The Great Divide
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Brotherhood AU. An old enemy of The Brotherhood and an unexpected threat from their own ranks collide to threaten the Winchester family.
1. Chapter 1

The Great Divide

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

A/N: It might be a good idea to have read my story _The Line_ before tackling this one as well as the story _What is to Come_, co-written with Tidia. I was planning on posting this first chapter on Monday, but decided to post early as a big thank you for all the kind reviews for _Home for Christmas_. Thank you! Keep in mind, this is Brotherhood AU, set slightly in the future.

RCJ

"_Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly." -Anonymous_

Most people believe there is an expanse between the realm of the living and the place where death dwells. They hold themselves safely separated, having a pulse and breath. Prayer and dreams the closest one might come to communicating with those who have crossed over to the other side. James Winchester knew that was not true. Things were rarely so black and white.

There was no vastness, no real divide between the two worlds. If in fact there was a curtain, James was certain it was more a thin veil, sheer and easily parted. Just because most people didn't see or hear the dead didn't mean they didn't exist in our world, lurking in all the gray shadows.

James grew up in a home where knowledge that the dead walked among the living was firsthand, delivered with all the sincerity and sanctity as the earth is round, two plus two equals four, and family _always_ comes first. He had at one time been granted, if not the ignorance of knowing the dead walked among us, at least the bliss of not having to acknowledge them on a daily basis. Ghosts usually had to be hunted, summoned. In James's case, spirits found him.

He was a psychic; more specifically a medium. Clairvoyant and clairaudient, which meant he could see and hear spirits, communicate with them whether he wanted to or not. Ghosts were attracted to James, recognizing in him a last desperate chance to finish old business, an opportunity to connect one more time with loved ones. Sometimes they were merely in need of direction, looking for an advocate to help them navigate the foreign land they found themselves in. James was thrust unwillingly into the role of supernatural tour guide.

His grandfather, Mac was fond of pointing out that things in nature tended to balance themselves. James wasn't sure about that. Except for being a freaky medium, his life was pretty sweet. His unique gift gave him an unusual perspective, which some people took for recklessness, but James preferred to see as enthusiasm, curiosity, a sense of adventure even. James might have been forced to keep one foot firmly planted in the grave, but he knew how to live.

He had finished his finals the day before, passing them all, including AP English, which was iffy. It assured him a place in graduation line-up on Saturday usurping Principal Connely's prediction that James would wind up either in the local cemetery or in jail long before he had the opportunity to turn the tassel on his mortar board. It also ensured his plans to throw the most notorious graduation party in New Haven's history.

James might not have been dedicated enough to be Valedictorian like Ben, nor had he been offered a baseball scholarship like JT, but he had left his own mark. Several high profile pranks and starting a grudge that would survive generations between the baseball and football teams ensured his name would never be forgotten. In his mind, managing to date both the prom queen and the homecoming queen at the same time was a far better legacy than some pretentious title or a plaque in the trophy case. James wasn't voted class favorite four years in a row for nothing, nor was he chosen most likely to forge his own empire because of his near perfect SAT and ACT scores. He might not have had the teachers and administration singing his praises, but he would no doubt have his fellow classmates' attention on Saturday when he delivered his graduation speech as president of the senior class. That was if he managed to live that long. As it was, Principal Connely might get to say 'I told you so'.

Hank Gentry was not a hunter he knew personally, but the silver ring marked him as a member of The Brotherhood. He dropped all the right passwords. If the man's face was not exactly familiar to James, his name was. James had heard it brought up in talks as of late, a passing here and there in Triad conversations. James's brother Ben was helping the man with something, something James had lost interest in quickly, his mind drifting to his graduation party plans, and other summer adventures he was sure to have, like travelling around for a week with JT and the Sox, before he left to conquer Columbia in the fall.

In James's defense, Gentry had walked onto their protected land, crossing thresholds created to bar any threat. Hunters often came to their house, met with his father. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The dogs were wary as they were with any stranger, but softened immediately at the command of 'friend'. They wagged around Gentry's long jean-clad legs as he stood on the screened in porch, leaving him only when James ordered them out to the barn. As senior Alpha dog, Porthos ignored the command the pups obeyed, retreating under the kitchen table instead.

Hank entered their home, politely acknowledging Mary and Josie who were surrounded by crepe paper, balloons, and markers. James's mom had put the girls in charge of decorations for the party his family was throwing in his honor. It was a distraction, considering the twelve year old girls were disgruntled at not being allowed to stay at the farm alone. James knew his mother had created the babysitting job more for his benefit than for the girls. He was being kept busy to keep him out of trouble, but trouble was tenacious when it came to finding James. Take Hank Gentry for instance, which upon entering their home promptly proceeded to pull a weapon and hold them all at gun point.

"Put your hands up and step back, Son."

"What the hell?" James didn't move, studying the man for signs this was some kind of graduation prank set up by one of his brothers or Max. Gentry was a big man, taller than James and broader in the shoulders. His thinning black hair was streaked with grey, as was his short beard. His eyes were an odd light blue, like the cornflowers on Miss Emma's china.

Gentry released the safety on the weapon, pointing it at James's chest. "I said put your hands where I can see them and move back."

James quickly got the picture that Gentry was not in the joking mood. "Are you crazy? Do have any idea what you're doing? " A hunter would have to be either possessed or insane to come to The Guardian's home and attack his family. The protections in place made the former impossible. James was going with the latter, which offered little comfort. Demons were one thing, crazy people quite another.

"No one has to be hurt if you do exactly what I say. Don't bother with any psychic tricks." Gentry took one hand off his weapon to retrieve a colorful hex bag from beneath his shirt. "I never thought I'd agree with your father aligning us so closely with that coven, but their magic is useful."

"That's a witch's purse." James turned at the sound of Josie's voice. The girls were standing just behind him, Porthos at their side. He had a piece of crepe paper grasped firmly in his jaws, but James noticed the hair along the ridge of the Boston Terrier's back was standing on end. Josie had her arms crossed over her chest with a shoulder slightly blocking Mary.

Both girls were accustomed to seeing guns, having been taught from an early age what they were capable of and why they should be feared and respected. Neither girl looked frightened, more like pleased that their day was about to get interesting. James imagined it was because neither had ever had reason to be afraid, especially at the farm. They had been raised on the fringe of The Brotherhood carefully shielded from the darker shadows that the society cast. Josie was pointing to the bag around Gentry's neck with nothing but curiosity shining in her serious blue eyes. "It's a shield, made with a specific intention in mind. It has the mark of our coven."

"Our grandmother taught us to make them," Mary added as if Gentry had stopped by for a visit with them, and was offering up a tray of cookies instead of a round of lead. "Each witch adds her own unique calling card. Who made yours? What's it for?"

"That's between me and your cousin."

"Don't talk to them." James took a step back to cover the girls. They weren't all doe-eyed and innocent as they pretended. The girls might have been naïve, but they were smart and completely enthralled with witchcraft. Gentry didn't even realize he was being swatted about like a mouse. They were on a fishing expedition, and he was not about to let them attempt one of their rookie spells on a gun-wielding, obviously out of his mind, hunter. He turned to flash them a warning glare. "Both of you be quiet."

"All of you shut up." Gentry stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. "This is going to go much smoother for everyone if the only person handing out orders is me. I have a strict timeline, and I will not miss my window of opportunity. Do you understand?"

"James is in charge," Josie said. James didn't miss the fact she reached out and grabbed Mary's hand as she spoke, a habit the girls had outgrown a few years ago.

"He's the only one who's allowed to tell us what to do," Mary added with a look of confidence in his direction.

"Now you two agree you have to listen to me?" James looked between them, picking up on their fear. A sudden surge of protectiveness made him angry. Things were not turning out as he had planned. Facing off against a rogue hunter was going to screw with his week of celebratory bliss.

"This isn't a game," he hissed in warning. James wanted to make sure they understood the seriousness of the situation, even if he was still in the dark about what was going on. "Listen to the nice maniac who has just come into The Guardian's house pointing a loaded weapon at his son, threatening his niece and The Advisor's daughter."

"He's going to be in so much trouble when The Triad finds out about this," Mary said quietly to Josie.

"That's an understatement." James cut his gaze to Gentry. "Our friend Hank is going to be dead."

"I'm not looking to die, Son. At least not today." Gentry raised a brow at James. "I know The Guardian and Knight are on a hunt in South Carolina. The Scholar is at a conference in Florida, which is why his daughter and her best friend are staying with Auntie Juliet. The good doctor is currently at her animal clinic in town, two surgeries scheduled today. I believe she'll be a while. Security is non-existent here at the farm. Something I'm sure will change after today."

"Aren't you the well-informed hunter?" James clenched his fists. There was a reason security detail was light at the farm. Most people were sane enough to understand the consequences of breaching the inner sanctum. Never could he remember a time when such precaution on his father's part was warranted. Hunters not only respected Dean Winchester, they feared him and for good reason.

James was all for positive change, like him having more freedom by going to live in New York with Max, but there were some things he needed to stay exactly the same. James glanced towards Miss Emma's china cabinet. Just behind it sat a shotgun, loaded and ready. He still didn't understand what was going on, but was willing to do what had to be done to protect the girls and their home.

"I have friends in high places." Gentry motioned James to take another step back. Porthos growled low in his throat. "I know that there are weapons hid around this place, and that you are just cocky enough to try and be a hero. Don't make me hurt you, boy. I need you alive, but that doesn't mean I can't put a bullet in a strategic area. There are the girls to consider."

"If you hurt us, Uncle Caleb will make you suffer," Josie said.

"I know all about suffering." Hank looked at the girls. "No one will be getting hurt as long as you get moving. Ladies first. We're going to the room where The Guardian keeps the journals and weapons. It's in the library, I believe."

"I don't know the code." James tried for a stall. He commanded Porthos to back down. Gentry might have been crazy, but he also seemed intent and prepared. There was too much risk involved in making a play for his weapon. The hex bag made any attempt at getting a read on his feelings impossible.

"That's a lie." Gentry gave him a hard shove. "Move."

"James?" Mary's voice was unsure, as Josie quickly turned to lead the way into the living room.

"It's okay, just do what he says." James pointed at his dog. "Porthos, stay."

Porthos wasn't the only one chomping at the bit, wanting to disobey orders. James was forced to follow his own advice once they were in the library. He slid one of Uncle Caleb's paintings aside, punching in the code that opened the steel vault affectionately known as The Tomb. A wall panel shifted, revealing the room only hunters in the highest circle of confidence found themselves invited.

Gentry gestured them in first, letting out a low whistle as he got his first glance at Brotherhood central command. The Tomb might have been designed with protection and security in mind, but Pastor Jim had given it a touch of his magic with the current Triad adding their own flare. The small entranceway opened up to a grand room that was a cross between Merlin's castle and the Bat Cave.

"I'll be damned," Gentry shook his head. "It really does have a round table."

"Straight from King Arthur's court." James watched Hank take in the surroundings, hoping for a moment when the advantage might swing his way.

"Right." Gentry kept the gun trained on James, using his free hand to pull two pair of handcuffs from the leather pouch on his belt. "I'm not naïve, kid. I knew your namesake. My family tree is firmly rooted in The Brotherhood. Old man Murphy loved the lore, stories passed down to enchant the young. This is a nice piece of furniture, but it's nothing more than a prop. I'm not afraid of myths."

"Then by all means take a load off, Hank." James gestured to one of the twelve chairs encircling the large mahogany table. Maps and a few books were strewn about on top from The Triad's last meeting. A pie plate with a few crumbs remaining and an empty glass had thoughts of his father tightening James's chest. "Legend has it those not deemed worthy by Merlin will meet a dreadful fate."

"I'm not interested in having a seat. I'm interested in a weapon." He tossed the handcuffs to James. "First, cuff the girls to that pole, and make sure the binding is tight."

"Why?" James glanced at the concrete column to which Gentry was referring. He figured it had been put in to reinforce the existing structure when Jim built the Tomb into the old farm house; but as kids, Uncle Caleb had convinced them that their father slid down it from his bedroom, changing into cape and mask before nightly runs as the superhero they all believed he was. James wished his father would make one of his last minute save the day appearances now. "They're just kids."

"Kids who have grown up with hunters and witches." Hank shifted his gaze to the girls. "I have no doubt these two would turn me into a frog given half the chance."

"You should be so lucky," Josie said.

"I was thinking evisceration enchantment," Mary added, with a glance to the older girl.

"First, I want to see your cell phones and any other electronic devices." Hank ignored the comments, gesturing to the table. "I can't have you two being found ahead of schedule."

"Two?" Mary asked. "There are three of us."

"Give him your phones." James surmised he was going to be some kind of insurance policy. He surrendered his cell, along with any hopes of reaching help. No one would be rescuing them any time soon. Despite the slight tug of dread, he found himself relieved that Hank was at least leaving the girls out of the rest of his plan. "Everything will be okay."

Josie pulled her phone from her jean's pocket and tossed it on the table. She waited for Mary to do the same before tugging her friend across the room. "James is right. Our dads will fix this."

"But Jimmy…"

"Will be fine as long as he does as I say," Gentry interrupted, following James to the pole where he waited for him to cuff the girls back to back around the column.

"He really didn't do enough research," Mary muttered, as James bent to tighten the shackle around her slight wrist.

"You got that right, Mo." He winked at his cousin when he saw tears pooled in her dark eyes. She was scared for him. As little girls both she and Josie knew how to use crying to their advantage. James, being closer to their age, had been somewhat impervious to the affect, often baffled at how the grown men reacted, but now he found himself feeling more than a little helpless. He tugged a lock of her blond hair. "If Mr. Gentry wanted a good soldier, he really should have waited and taken JT."

"That would have definitely been the smarter move," Josie agreed. She met James's gaze when he moved to crouch next to her. The only emotion he could detect from the older girl was anger and annoyance. "At least try not to be your obnoxious normal self, Jimmy."

James frowned at the nickname. Although the insult was typical, Josie always called him James, just like their grandmother, Esme. He understood the purposeful slip when he felt her drop something into his hand. The crystal was still warm from her skin, the silver chain cool against his sweaty palm. "Will do, Jocelyn."

James closed his fingers around the necklace, tucking it into his pocket as he stood. He looked at Gentry. "Satisfied?"

"Not by a long shot, Kid." He used the gun to gesture James away from the girls. "I'm looking for a knife."

"Mary's right. You really didn't do your research." James snorted. "Take a look around. This is more repository than armory." The weapons were hidden behind another panel. He nodded to the walls of book shelves which held journals of countless generations behind museum grade glass. Paintings and pictures of more famous hunters lined one wall along with shields adorned with family crests. Another was reserved for regional and topographical maps as well as the huge computer monitors and a GPS tracking system that Uncle Sam had installed a few years before.

"You're wasting my time," Gentry growled. He pointed his gun at the far wall, firing at a painting of three dragons cornering a cowering St. George. The picture crashed to the floor. The girls screamed as the blast echoed in the steel enforced room. Mary started to cry.

"Alright!" James yelled. "I get the point."

"Good." Gentry re-aimed the weapon at James's chest. "Echnon's Blade. Heard of it?"

"Yes." When James was Mary and Josie's age he had two main hobbies-comic books and Brotherhood history. He had read all of the journals in The Tomb at least twice. That was before his abilities reared their ugly head and the supernatural world became all too real and personal for James. "Magical knife, supposedly able to resurrect the dead."

"I want it. Duran Hughes's journal as well."

"Echnon's Blade? Duran Hughes?" James's heart was pounding so loudly in his chest he wondered if Gentry could hear it over Mary and Josie's sobs. Duran Hughes had been of particular interest to James after he found out about his abilities. He knew the man's history inside and out, his short trip down the dark path was well-documented. "I thought you didn't buy into myths and lore."

"I think we both know there's a difference between old Jim Murphy's stories, and the reality of the supernatural anomalies we run across in our line of work."

James realized the difference. He lived that truth, a fact Hank Gentry was well aware of. He wasn't being used as insurance, but was chosen because of his similarities to Hughes. "Do you know what happened to Duran Hughes?"

"I do." Hank's face was grim. James recognized the look in the man's eyes, having seen the dark resolve reflected in many faces. The only thing new, surprising, was that Hank Gentry was still alive. It was in that moment that James realized there was nothing he could do or say to change Gentry's mind. Both their fates were sealed.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

The Great Divide

Chapter 2

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: This was an interesting chapter for me to write, one I fiddled with and changed about ten times. I did get to use something I rarely tap into when working in Brotherhood verse, my experience as a mom-not many of those hanging around. This chapter is dedicated to Nana56, who, like me, has a soft spot in her heart for boys like James. Also, just a reminder that Tidia and I will be returning to our present time stories soon. We are currently working on a story arc for Supernatural season six.

RCJ

_**Children in a family are like flowers in a bouquet: there's always one determined to face in an opposite direction from the way the arranger desires. **_

_**- Marcelene Cox**_

Getting home was always the least favorite part of Juliet's day. Not that she wasn't happy to see her family, or enjoy the respite the farm offered, it was the unpacking of her SUV that killed her-especially on grocery day. At any given time there were at least three to four able bodied boys waiting for snacks or dinner, but not one ever seemed to be around when she needed a hand with rudimentary labor.

"I should have taken in miniature pack mules or llamas instead of you two." Juliet blew her hair out of her face and tried to manage one more bag from the back while stepping around the Golden Retriever and Grey Hound circling her legs. She could have at least rescued a St. Bernard or Burmese Mountain Dog, maybe some Siberians she could have hooked to a sled and taught to lug packages in the house on command.

Aramis whined, rubbing his slim head against her hip as she stumbled towards the front door. Her cell phone was ringing somewhere in the bottom of her purse, the dulcet tones of Aretha Franklin alerting it was her mother, who never failed in her uncanny knack to call Juliet at the least convenient time possible. To top it all off, the door was locked.

"James! Girls!" Juliet yelled at the closed door. She resorted to using her foot to bang at the bottom of the screen when no one came to her aide. James's car was the only one in the drive. Max and JT had not made it in from the airport. Their flights weren't due until four, and considering Friday traffic in Louisville she was not surprised. She could hear only snorting and sniffling coming from the other side of the door, which meant Porthos was the only one waiting to greet her. It also meant she was going to have to put down her load, and start the needle in a haystack search for her keys. Hadn't Carolyn given her that magnetic key ring thing for a reason? "JAMES!"

Athos barked, eliciting a reply from Porthos inside, prompting Aramis to wrap his long gangly body between her feet where he promptly began to shiver. Juliet resolved herself to dropping the shopping bags on the porch to take up the quest for her keys. She sat her purse down on a planter, stroking Aramis's head with one hand while she searched with the other. The ring of twenty plus keys rested at the very bottom, the butterfly attachment Carolyn swore would prevent such instances tangled in the strap of her cosmetic bag. "Shit."

It took a moment, but she managed to free the keys, opening the door to an agitated Porthos. She dragged the bags across the threshold, nearly stampeded by Athos who ran in, nose to the floor as he circled the table, which she noted was a disaster. Instead of the lasagna she had instructed James to put in the oven and have on the table by six, Juliet found party supplies and teen magazines. The girls had promised to make a salad and some lemonade.

"Mary? Josie?" Juliet piled her things on top of the mess. Porthos yipped, standing on hind legs to get her attention. She ignored the dog, moving into the living room where more evidence of James's disregard for her instructions was evident. Half-empty glasses and plates were strewn about on the floor in telling pattern around the television and gaming controls. She imagined the barn stalls had gone untouched, as well as the other list of chores she had left. "James Murphy Winchester !"

"Your boy is in so much trouble," she grumbled to Porthos, starting for the stairs that would take her to James's room. Juliet diverted her route when she heard voices from the hallway. They were muffled, but the closer she got to the library the stronger they became. It sounded as if the girls were either in a rare shouting match or belting out the lyrics from one of their current favorite boy bands.

"Mary?" Juliet stopped inside the library, her brain trying to assimilate the scene before her. Porthos darted ahead pacing back and forth in front of the wall that provided camouflage for The Tomb. Aramis hung back at her side, while Athos patrolled the perimeter. He let out a low growl that was unusual for the young dog. The girls weren't anywhere in sight, their voices stronger now, but still distorted. Porthos used his single front paw to scratch at the wood paneling.

"Tell me he did not do what I think he did." Juliet brought her hands to her face with a groan. She could practically feel more of her hair turning gray. Aramis let out a commiserative fretful whine as she made her way to the painting that hid the key pad for access. This was one step too far even for James. Juliet knew the code for emergency reasons, but doubted her son locking his charges in The Tomb so he could go do God only knows was what Dean had in mind when he had her memorize the release date for Lynyrd Skynyrd's first album.

The door slid away, Mary and Josie's shouts echoing loudly now off the steel vaulted walls. All three dogs ran in, circling the struggling girls as Juliet moved into the room. She was not sure what she had expected to find-maybe the girls sequestered with a load of junk food, some movies and their i-Pods. Finding them distraught, handcuffed back to back around the cement pole in The Tomb was most definitely not a blip on the radar of her mother's intuition. Juliet's stomach knotted, anger and disbelief warring for dominance.

"Girls! Are you alright?" She rushed to their sides. Both of them were frantic, in tears. She laid a hand on Josie's shoulder, smoothing hair away from Mary's damp cheeks. If James thought this was going to be brushed aside as one of his pranks, he was in for a huge shock. Dean would kill him. Forget Columbia, community college was still an option, or maybe military school wasn't completely out of the picture. James wouldn't be eighteen until September.

"You have to hurry!" Mary sobbed.

"Someone took James!" Josie shrieked.

"It's okay," Juliet soothed, touching the metal cuffs around their arms. She could imagine countless people who might have taken James, including anyone from his soccer team or Cara, the latest in a long parade of girls her son had been dating. "Let's get you out of here. Did James leave the keys? I could use wire cutters..."

"No!" Josie shouted when Juliet turned to scan the room for anything that might be of use. "You need to call my father!"

"Call Uncle Dean," Mary corrected. "And my dad!"

Juliet looked at them, not surprised they were out for blood. Pre-teen girls could be dramatic and vicious, but she was right on board with them this time. It was tempting to bring in The Triad, but she could handle her son until his father got home. "Let me take care of you two and then I'll deal with James."

"No. You don't understand," Josie pleaded. "James didn't do this."

"A man came," Mary picked up where her best friend left off. "He took Jimmy."

"What?" The words started to catch up with the sinking feeling Juliet had gotten as soon as she realized where the girls were. It was not completely out of left field that James might pull such a thing, especially in light of recent events at school, but her son had never been cruel. He might like to play at cavalier, but a mother new her child's heart. The only person that usually ended up hurt by James's rule-breaking and reckless behavior was James. Juliet knelt in front of Mary, grasping both her shoulders gently. "Where's your cousin? What do you mean someone took him?"

Mary took a deep breath, her eyes filling again as she stared at Juliet. "A hunter came to the door. Jimmy let him in..."

"He knew the passwords," Josie amended. "He wore a ring."

"He had a gun." Mary blinked, a few tears escaping her lashes. She bit her lip, continuing. "He said he would shoot James if he didn't do exactly as he said."

Josie squirmed and twisted around so she could see Juliet. "James told him he was a dead man, but he wouldn't listen."

"Oh God." Juliet's legs weakened, her heart pounded against her chest. She brought her hand to the silver cross at her neck, glancing to the dogs. It explained their behavior, Athos on guard, Aramis more distraught and clingy than usual.

"A hunter did this? You're sure?" In all the years she had lived at the farm, the worst thing that had come to their door was a vacuum cleaner salesman, which D'artagnan promptly scared away. Hunters might have passed through, but they were respectful, rarely even addressing her or the boys unless they were close friends, like Ethan and Eli, or Riley and Bradley. "But the wards…"

"He had a hex bag," Josie explained.

"He looked human," Mary added.

Juliet didn't understand how the protections at the farm worked, nor had she ever cared to. The Brotherhood was a world in and of itself, one she only skirted the perimeter of and only then for her family's sake. It was easier not to try and grasp it, sort of like Newton's Law of Relativity. She loved Dean, had not looked back since the night she'd returned to the farm with peach pie from The Dinner Bell and a bottle of wine in hand. Since then she'd tried to view The Brotherhood as any other dangerous line of work.

Only after JT was born did she question Dean about their safety. He had assured her that the boys would be protected; the farm was hallowed ground, his position as The Guardian ensuring nothing supernatural would threaten them. That promise had held true until now. Juliet had made peace with the fact the boys wanted to be hunters. They could be hurt while in the field. She had experienced that hand-wringing sensation. But this was the farm-this was their home.

"Aunt Juliet?" Mary's voice broke through the numbing shock. "Are you going to call?"

"Our phones are on the table," Josie said. "So is James's."

"Yes." Juliet scrambled to her feet, desperate to get to the one link she had to Dean. "Dean will fix this. He'll know what to do." She grabbed James's cell, ignoring the pang of guilt that raced through her. She had been furious with her son only moments before, gleefully running possible punishment scenarios through her head; completely unaware his life was in danger. What kind of horrible mother was she?

"Pick up. Pick up. Pick up." Juliet held the phone to her ear as she scanned the room for anything that she might use to remove the cuffs. A broad sword was not her first choice, which meant she'd have to raid the tool shed.

Dean's voicemail had tears stinging her eyes, the back of her throat burning. She waited for the beep. "Dean. It's Juliet. Call me, please."

It sounded ridiculous as if their son being kidnapped fell on the same scale as 'hey, honey, I need you to pick up a loaf of bread on your way home'. She knew the very fact she had called while he was on a hunt would alert Dean to trouble. She felt the first tendrils of panic take hold when Caleb's number also elicited an unhelpful message. It reminded her of the night James was born, nearly a month before he was due. The events of his birth were only a prelude to the excitement her youngest son would bring into their lives. Knight and Guardian had been on a hunt then, too-out of reach. Sam had found them in the nick of time. She prayed he wouldn't disappoint her this time either. The Scholar didn't let her down, answering on the second ring.

"_James? What's up, buddy?" _

"Thank God, Sam." Juliet felt the first tear fall, turning her back on the girls. She pressed the phone closer to her ear.

"_Juliet? What's wrong?" _

"Someone took James," her voice cracked. She could feel the girls watching her. "Dean and Caleb aren't answering. You have to get them. You have to find James. God, Sam, he has to be alright."

"_Wait, wait,"_

Sam's voice was calm. Juliet could imagine him excusing himself from whatever breakout session he was in, finding a more private place. When he started again, his voice was softer, more urgent.

"_What do you mean someone took James? Where are you? Are you alright?" _

"I'm at the farm. I'm fine. It's James. James is gone." Juliet turned towards Mary and Josie again. "The girls said it was a hunter. Sam, a hunter came into our home with a gun and took my son. How the hell is that possible?"

"_The girls were there when it happened? Are they okay?" _

"Mary and Josie are fine." Juliet swallowed hard, hating that she hadn't clarified that right away. "Can you feel him? Do you know if he's alright?"

There was a deep sigh on the other end. Juliet could hear rustling, then the distinct sound of an elevator ding and doors opening.

"_My abilities don't work that way, not at this distance." _

"But with Dean and Caleb…"

"_Dean and Caleb are my Triad."_

"James is your nephew!" She knew shouting at Sam wouldn't help her son, but it made her feel better to yell at someone. The Triad was a mystery, the connections Dean, Caleb and Sam shared hard to define or grasp, but so was the link between mother and child. She wanted her baby back, so she could ground him for life.

"_Juliet, calm down. Tell me what happened." _

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Juliet squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the panic that filled her heart. Sam was right; she needed to get a grip. She was a doctor for God's sake. She had survived medical school and lived through raising three teenage boys. Where were her nerves of steel when she needed them? "I told you. A man came to the farm and…" The dogs started barking, saving her from saying the unimaginable out loud once more. Porthos and Athos tore out of the Tomb, Aramis affixing himself to her thigh with a throaty whine. "Someone's here."

"_Where are you? Where are the girls?" _

Sam's voice was tense, losing the assuring and confident quality it usually held. She found herself whispering as if she were in New Haven's public library. "In the Tomb."

"_Good. You know how to access the weapons. You can lock yourselves in from the inside." _

"Yes, but…"

"_Juliet. Find a gun ." _

"A gun?" Juliet moved to the bookshelf, looking for the leather bound copy of_ To Kill a Mockingbird_. Touching the book would engage a print recognition scan, opening the safe where the guns were.

"Aunt Juliet?" Mary's voice was frightened, strengthening Juliet's resolve. She hated guns, but knew how to load and shoot one. The idea of taking a life horrified her, but protecting the girls was second nature. She found the false tome, placed forefinger and thumb on the spine. The safe opened. "I've got it."

"_You__'re doing great." Sam's tone was authoritative once more, his lecture voice, Dean called it. "I'm going to stay on the phone with you."_

"Mom? James?"

"Oh thank God." Juliet let the breath rush from her lungs at the sound of her oldest son's voice. She quickly put the small caliber gun she had chosen back into the safe, and crushed the phone to her ear. "It's JT. Max and JT are here."

"We're in here!" Mary yelled.

"Max!" Josie joined her, "JT!"

She could barely hear Sam over the girls' shouting. _"Juliet, put Max on the phone." _

"Josie! Mary! What the hell?" Max entered The Tomb first, his gaze going from his sister to Mary to Juliet. "What happened?" He touched Juliet's shoulder on his way to where the girls were. She could read the worry in his blue gaze, the determined set of his jaw so reminiscent of Caleb.

"Mom?" JT came in behind him with the dogs on his heels. He was taller than Dean now. She hadn't seen him since spring training began, swore he'd grown another couple of inches. It always caught her off guard when he entered a room, as if she expected her little boy to come running up to her instead of the grown man who crossed to her side now. "What's going on? Your hatch was open, groceries everywhere…" He trailed off midsentence, concern shadowing his green gaze. "Are you crying?"

"A man took James," Josie said what Juliet couldn't. They all looked at her. "A hunter. He had a gun and made James tie us up. They took a journal and a knife from The Tomb." She rattled off the same story she and Mary had dropped on Juliet.

"I don't know how long ago." Juliet found her voice, her eyes going to JT's as she tried to keep the fear and frustration from overwhelming her. She used her free hand to grip her son's wrist. "I just got here and found the girls. Your brother…Jimmy was gone."

"What?" JT gestured to the phone. "Are you talking to Dad?"

"No." Juliet realized Sam was still on the line, had been speaking to her this entire time. "It's your Uncle Sam." She dragged in another breath. "Shit, Sam. I'm sorry."

"_Put JT on the phone." _

She offered the cell phone to her son, who surprised her by stepping out of her reach with his hands raised. "No. I can't."

"What?" She looked from JT to Max, who was busy picking the locks on the girl's cuffs. Had they not understood what she and the girls had just said? James was in danger. "Max?"

"Sorry, Juliet. I'm with JT." He glanced at his best friend before releasing the first set of cuffs.

"_Tell one of them to take the goddamn phone." _

Juliet flinched at the voice on the line. "Sam, they're not listening."

"Are you sure it was a hunter?" JT moved to help Mary and Josie up now that they were free from the pole. The dogs gathered around, excited by all the activity. JT ordered them to sit as Max worked on the last set of cuffs that still bound the girls' wrists together. "How do you know?"

"He had a ring and the passwords," Mary explained once she was on her feet. "He knew the Triad was out of town and that there was no security detail."

Max made quick work of getting rid of the other shackles, which he tossed to the side of the room. "Did you catch a name?" he asked his sister.

"Gentry," Josie replied, rubbing her red, chaffed wrists. "Hank Gentry."

"Sounds familiar." Max looked at JT. "You know him?"

"No." JT shook his head. "I've been out of the loop."

"We'll call Ben, then Mac. Between the two of them, they'll know something," Max said, looking about the room to see if there was some clue available.

"Riley, too." JT put a hand on Mary's head. "What else? Anything might help."

Mary licked her lips, looking to Josie before she spoke. "He said he had a timeframe, a window he had to meet. He needed James alive for his plan to work."

"When did this happen? How long ago since they left?"

"It was before lunch." Mary looked at Josie then down to the colorful Hello Kitty plastic watchband on her arm. "Around six hours."

"What weapon did he take?" Max asked.

"And whose journal?" JT prompted.

"Something called Echnon's Blade," Mary replied.

"It was Duran Hughes's journal that he wanted," Josie supplied. "James seemed to know who that was. It upset him."

"Hughes was a medium, right?" Max was looking at JT for confirmation. "Black-balled from The Brotherhood the hard way."

"Yeah." JT nodded. "His journal and that blade equal bad news."

"This Duran Hughes was a medium like your brother?" Juliet was having a hard time keeping up with the volleyed conversation with the boys and Sam's incessant demands she make one of them take the phone. "Do you think that was why he was taken?"

"I don't know, Mom." JT glanced at Max. "Start gathering what we'll need."

"What are you going to do?" She didn't like the silent communication that passed between them. Juliet had been in too many similar situations with Dean and Sam, Caleb and Sam, Dean and Caleb. The boys had started it at a young age. She sometimes wished _she_ were psychic just to be privy to all the inner dialogue exchanged with just a glance.

"We're going after Jimmy."

Gauging from Sam's reaction, he must have heard her son's declaration. _"NO! Absolutely not. Put JT on the phone. NOW!"_

Juliet shoved herself in between the boys, grabbing Max's arm to hold him in place. She was not deterred that both of them towered over her. She had changed their diapers, bandaged their scraped knees and wiped their snotty noses. That earned her some respect. They were going to listen to her one way or the other. "The Scholar is ordering one of you to talk to him. You need to listen to your uncle."

"Sorry, Juliet, it doesn't work that way." Max gently removed her grip, turning his back on her, and the phone she was holding up to him as he moved to the safe where he started pulling out various guns and ammunition.

"Jonathan Thomas Winchester!" She thrust the phone at her son.

"Sorry, Mom. Second hand orders are mere hearsay. I don't want to talk to The Scholar, because I don't want to break chain of command. I'm going after Jimmy one way or the other."

"Hearsay?" She bit her lip, watching as JT grabbed a duffel from a stack near the door and moved to Max's side. Sam was still bellowing across the line, demanding to be heard and obeyed. She watched as the boys moved in tandem, perfect sync. It reminded her of her team in surgery suite. Juliet had watched Dean and Caleb prepare for a hunt with similar efficiency. It took a crisis, the threat of harm to James, to do what going off to college, starting lives of their own had not done. Juliet realized JT and Max were no longer children.

"_Put me on speaker phone," Sam was shouting. _

"I'm going to put him on speaker phone." Even as she threatened it, Juliet knew she wouldn't do it. The boys were instilled not to disobey a direct order. Sam would order them to stand down to wait for help before going after James. Joshua was in Nashville. Sam was in Florida. Even with the Ames's jet, they were both hours away. Dean and Caleb had not called her back. James might not have hours. She calculated the risks against what might be gained by letting the boys do things their way. "Sam, I'm going to call you back."

"_Juliet…"_

She cut the connection, putting the phone in her pocket. "Girls, is there anything else you remember that might help JT and Max?" She was sounding more like the doctor she was, dealing with a hysterical family of beloved pets that had been injured. Only this time she was the frantic family member.

"My crystal," Josie took her hand and squeezed it. "I gave James my crystal."

Mary reached up to remove the silver chain around her neck. She held it up for Juliet to see, the light catching the jagged edges of amethyst. "My crystal is the sister to it. They were taken from the same rough stone, so they're connected."

"What does that mean?" Juliet knew the necklaces were a gift from Esme on the girl's tenth birthdays, presented to them at a coven ceremony Juliet had found both beautiful and completely mystifying. The coven was another part of their lives she chose not to study too closely, preferring to take in small glances out of the corner of her eye.

"It means I can scry for the missing crystal, which will act like a tracking beacon on James." Max took the necklace from Mary. He ruffled Josie's hair. "Nice thinking, Sis."

Josie shot a heated look his way as she smoothed a hand over her dark head. "Do you even remember how to cast that spell, Maxim? I've never seen you practice it."

"I think I can handle it." Max pocketed the necklace, taking several maps from the rolls on the wall. "We need to move, J."

Juliet felt a sudden surge of remorse as she watched JT gather his things. Maybe she should have let Sam order the boys to stand down. What if she was risking one child for the sake of another? "JT…"

"It's okay, Mom." JT pulled the duffel over his shoulder, crossing to stand in front of her once more. He gripped her shoulders, bending to plant a quick kiss on her forehead. "We'll bring him home. I promise."

"He graduates on Saturday." Juliet felt her eyes start to burn again. She quickly brushed a hand over her face. "He has a speech to give, that incredibly insane party he thinks we know nothing about to throw. I can't lose him. Your father will…" Dean would be devastated, blaming himself for whatever happened.

"Dad will be here soon." JT told her what she needed to hear. "Uncle Sam will reach him and Uncle Caleb. Max and I will leave a trail they can follow."

"Call my mom and have her send Micah here. He's only about an hour out and will bring men that we can trust." Max pointed to the safe. "Keep a gun with you, lock all the doors and don't let _anyone_ in until Micah shows."

"We'll be fine." Juliet tossed her arms around the girls' shoulders, hugging them close to her sides. "You two be careful. Promise me."

JT held up three fingers. "Scout's Honor, Mom."

"I'm not a scout, but I promise we'll both be fine." Max flashed her his crooked grin. "Jimmy, too."

"Good, because your Uncle Sam is going to want you all healthy when he kills you for indirectly disobeying an order." Juliet forced a smile. "And if I didn't say it, I'm glad you boys are home."

"Not exactly the homecoming we had planned," Max put a hand to his stomach. "I was really looking forward to your lasagna."

JT snorted at his friend's kissing up. "Leave it to Jimmy to keep things interesting."

Juliet watched them go, placing her chin atop Mary's head, as she gave Josie an extra squeeze. Aramis leaned against them, nudging his head against her. "Just once I'd like this family to embrace dull."

SPN*_thebrotherhood_*SPN

James's eyes snapped open with the rocking of the car, the crunch of gravel under tires as it travelled off paved road. He hadn't slept on the long ride, making sure to take in all the surroundings as they drove. Prospect of eminent death erased any hopes of a cat nap. James did manage to give himself one massive headache by trying to reach out psychically to his uncles. His abilities didn't work like theirs, but he hoped he'd manage some kind of Bat Signal by sheer force of will and desperation.

The last dregs of the trek held nothing but monotonous twisting roads with little scenery. He'd rested his eyes out of sheer boredom, hoping to keep his nausea at bay and stop his racing thoughts. He tried to catch Gentry's eye in the mirror, doing what he did best when he was nervous. "I hope wherever we're going has indoor plumbing, Hank. I really hate roughing it."

The man driving ignored him, which had been the case the entire leg. James shifted in the seat trying to find relief for his bladder as he scanned the open fields around them. "Ohio is flatter than I imagined. What's with all the wind turbines?"

It was unsettling that Gentry didn't feel the need to cover his trail, taking I-75, a straight shot to Ohio towards Dayton without stopping. As it was, Josie's crystal hidden in his pocket wouldn't be needed for his family to find him. Hank sure as hell wasn't offering any insight or responding to the snide commentary James kept up most of the trip. He hoped to rattle the hunter, or at the least annoy the shit out of him. Uncle Caleb said smart ass rhetoric was a useful talent, one James embraced wholeheartedly. It had the side benefit of keeping him alert, preventing his mind from traveling to unpleasant endings.

He estimated they had been on the road for at least five hours as the sun was now nearing the horizon. Gentry left James locked in the car each time he'd stopped at out of the way stations to relieve himself. As it was James's bladder was screaming in protest, keeping him from thinking too much on his rumbling stomach and aching wrists cuffed tightly to the rig in the backseat of the police car.

"I guess there's not a lot of crime out here, huh, Officer? Too much free time to drum up asinine kidnapping plots for some much needed excitement, new inventive ways to cross over the thin blue line?" James had been surprised to find the patrol vehicle waiting for them in the drive when Gentry forced him out of the farmhouse at gunpoint. He'd had a fleeting hope that New Haven's finest had gotten a whiff of his graduation party plans and had sent one of the deputies out to say 'DON'T!' His hopes were dashed as he got a closer look at the older model white sedan complete with traditional strobes on top. The markings were different from New Haven's, alerting citizens they were dealing with the Sheriff of Bowling Green, Ohio.

At first James reasoned Gentry might have stolen the vehicle, either making a terrible mistake in getaway vehicles or a ballsy brilliant move in his dastardly plan, whatever the plan might be. The shield hanging from the rearview mirror nixed that idea, adding yet another twist to the already vexing morning. _Gentry _stood out in relief against the shiny silver badge emblazoned with thick block letters. "So, you're not only a rogue hunter, but a dirty cop, too? What are the good citizens of Bowling Green going to think? You're off your fucking rocker."

They turned onto another side road, purposively hitting a couple of potholes that had James hissing as his arms were wrenched behind him, his head banging against the passenger window. They went only a short distance before coming to a stop near a small ranch. The drive was paved, a basketball goal with its net half hanging sat alongside a two-car garage and an overgrown lawn. "Did you kidnap me to do yard work for you?"

James felt a wave of panic as the car came to a complete stop and Gentry punched the remote to open the garage doors. The sheer unknown variables of what was about to happen as they pulled into the darkened space made him lightheaded. He was torn between the equally embarrassing prospects of vomiting or pissing his pants. The motion lights came on revealing bicycles, a sled, and scattered hockey sticks. It was the sight of the other vehicle in the garage and not the typical middle class family junk that claimed James's attention. Momentary astonishment was the only thing that saved Sheriff Gentry's upholstery.

"Ben." James swallowed hard; blinking to make sure the shiny Chevrolet wasn't a mirage. The 1976 El Camino, practically a family member herself, had been given to his oldest brother by their father on Ben's sixteenth birthday. Their Dad and Ben uncovered the relic at Uncle Bobby's place, rebuilt and customized the junk heap together. James was barely four when Ben packed his things in the Chevy and left for school, but he could recall the day vividly, the rumble of the engine, the sun reflecting off the gun metal gray as the car disappeared down their driveway. Since then James had always identified the sight and sound of the El Camino with his brother returning home; but now instead of a sense of safety and security, the classic one of kind sitting in Hank Gentry's drive elicited alarm and an underlying wave of fury. For the first time his death was not prominent in his mind.

"What the hell did you do to my brother, you sonofabitch!" James lifted his feet, and kicked the Plexiglas plate separating him from Gentry. He felt the shock of connection echo through his bones, but no sense of satisfaction when the partition remained intact.

Hank killed the engine and turned to look at him. "Take it easy, hot shot. Unlike you, your brother came here of his own free will. I haven't hurt Ben."

James yanked against the cuffs, casting another quick glance to Ben's car. "Why the hell should I believe you? Why would he come here?"

"Because your father asked him." James watched Gentry get out; bringing his gun and the bag he'd taken from the farm with him. He moved to James's door and opened it. James scrambled to remember the exact reason Gentry's name seemed familiar, the connection he held to Ben. "And besides being one of the best up and coming surgical oncologists in the northeast, he seems to be an honorable man."

"Like a traitor and a thief would know anything about honor." It was starting to return to him. His brother was involved with Gentry because someone in the man's family had cancer. Ben had chosen oncology as his specialty from the onset of his medical career, was in the middle of his fellowship at Harvard. To him, demons and spirits were run of the mill bad ass. Cancer was the great evil.

"I'm not a traitor." Gentry pulled a silencer from the bag at his feet and attached it to his gun. The officer didn't want any nosy neighbors ruining his fun. "I know you don't understand that now, but I have spent my life loyal to The Brotherhood and the law."

"Heartfelt testimony won't impress my dad. This little plan of yours is going to cost you more than your badge and your ring."

"Knowing your father, I'm sure that's true."

James watched Gentry hit the release on the bar that held him to the seat. His countenance never wavered as he stepped back, pointing the gun at James, motioning him out of the car. The man was resigned to his fate, prepared to die, and that made him dangerous.

"I want to see Ben." James winced as the pressure on his wrists lessoned. His arms were still cuffed behind him, but he could move . It took him a moment to get his legs cooperating. "Now."

"Still trying to give me orders?" Gentry snorted, pointing his gun toward a door to the main house. "I thought you wanted to piss, smartass?"

"After I know my brother is alright."

"Got to admire that about you Winchesters." Hank shoved him from behind. "Hell or high water, family comes first."

James stumbled, shooting a glare over his shoulder. "It's our motto. We have team shirts. You should have really considered that fact before you decided to kidnap one of us."

"Believe me, Kid, I considered it." Gentry stopped at the door, using a set of keys to unlock the elaborate set of deadbolts, entering a code on the keypad.

"Paranoid much?" James rolled his eyes as the door opened into a small kitchen. "That won't keep The Triad out."

"By the time The Triad gets here, I'll have what I want." Gentry gave him another push, closing the door behind them. "You and your brother will be free to go."

James looked around the room. It was bright and clean, almost cheery with its blue checkered tile floor and yellow walls. His stomach rumbled as the aroma of pot roast and baking bread wafted to him from the direction of the oven. The room smelled like his Grandmother Esme had been cooking. James was hit with a sudden pang of guilt. He'd skipped his last visit to New York in lieu of a date with Cara. Her parents had been out of town. The prospect of having a house to themselves overshadowed a weekend of visiting the Met and National History Museum with Grandpa Mac.

"Helen? Rodney?"

Gentry's booming call had James flinching. He whipped his head towards the hallway when a female voice responded. "Honey, we're all in Cy's room."

"I'll wash up and be right in." Gentry responded as if he had returned home from a typical day at work.

James was expecting a lair of evil hunters, not middle class suburbia. "Who the hell is Cy?"

"My son." Gentry moved in behind him, clamping one of his meaty hands around James's biceps with enough force to bruise. He guided them towards a room off to the right, opening the door and flipping on the light. The silencer of Gentry's gun dug into James's ribs, the sheriff's stale coffee breath hot against James's cheek. "He means everything to me. All of this is for him. I won't have Cy or my wife put in danger or upset by any of your half-cocked, seat of the pants ideas, boy."

"Again, you really should have thought of that before you brought _me_ home to meet the family, asshole."

The cuff to the back of his head had James seeing stars. It most definitely was not affectionately delivered like the taps he occasionally received from his dad and Uncle Caleb.

"Do you understand me?" Gentry growled.

James clenched his jaw when the muzzle of the gun was jabbed harder into his side. "I get it. I'll be a well-mannered hostage."

"You better." Gentry released his arm. A second later one of the handcuffs was released. "Your brother will be the one to pay the price if you don't." Hank pushed him into the bathroom. "Do your business and wash your hands. Cy's room needs to stay sterile."

"Does Ben know I'm joining you for dinner?" James brought his arms in front of him with a wince. He'd felt his brother's presence when he entered the house. Ben was calm, relaxed. There was no sense of urgency or fear. "How about your wife? Are all your houseguests brought in with handcuffs?"

"You really are a smartass." Gentry rubbed a hand over his beard. "Ben thinks he's here for Cy's last hours, offering to come himself instead of sending more hospice workers. Decent of him, considering he was headed home for his little brother's graduation when I called."

"Ben hates surprises." James rubbed his bruised wrists, anger replacing his earlier fear. "He may play a mild-mannered doctor on T.V., but he's a chip off the old block, if you get my drift." Ben might have chosen to devote the majority of his energy battling medical monsters, saving more lives than he had ever taken, but he was a hunter, deadly in his own right. Dangerous was written in the Winchester DNA.

"He might not like it, but he won't risk you." Gentry leaned against the door, unwilling to offer James any privacy. "I've listened to the stories he told Cy about your family these last few months, seen the way his face changes when he talks about you and your brother."

James shrugged off Gentry's comment, ignoring the way his chest tightened at the implications. James didn't incur Ben's wrath very often, even in light of all the stunts James had pulled over the last year, Ben was willing to hear his side of things when the shit hit the fan, usually reframing matters in a way James didn't always deserve. He focused on more pressing issues, thankful he had never been shy considering Hank was intent to hold the gun on him as he relieved his bladder.

"I won't hurt him if I don't have to."

The soft promise had James glancing up in the mirror as he washed his hands. He glared at Hank, not caring that the man's icy eyes held more emotion than he'd witnessed from him thus far. "You hurt Ben and my dad won't have to kill you." It wasn't an empty threat. A werewolf was the closest thing to a human that James had killed, but he knew he wouldn't have a problem pulling the trigger if it came down to it. Of the three of Dean Winchester's sons, James knew with certainty he was the one most like their father in some regards. Uncle Caleb told him the cold blooded, ruthless side would pay off in the boardroom, but made James promise to use his power for good in all other areas of his life. The Knight was only half-joking.

"Let's go." Gentry's face hardened, stepping back so that James would move out of the bathroom and into the kitchen once more. "The clock is ticking."

To be continued…

A/N: Thank you for your patience with this chapter, it was necessary to set the ball rolling.


	3. Chapter 3

The Great Divide

Chapter 3

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thanks to all who have reviewed. I've loved reading your speculation for this story, and hope you enjoying the surprises in store.

RCJ

"_Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within."-_

_James Baldwin_

James understood Gentry's urgency when they entered the bedroom at the end of the hall. From the looks of Gentry's son, the poor kid's time was almost up. Not even the aroma of dinner could mask the distinct smell of sickness and something James innately recognized as death. He let his gaze go from the emaciated boy in the bed to Ben, who had made his way to his feet upon their entrance.

Ben was wearing a gray t-shirt proclaiming him a participant in the 'Save Second Base' marathon and faded ratty jeans. The stethoscope around his neck looked out of place with his attire and running shoes. There were two other people in the room, a woman who James assumed was Gentry's wife and another man younger than Gentry sitting in a chair in the corner.

"Jimmy?"Ben took a step towards James, the confusion in his green eyes quickly being replaced by concern. "What in the world are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is it Dad?"

James opened his mouth to reply but a not so gentle reminder from Gentry's gun kept him quiet. When he didn't respond, Ben looked to Gentry for an answer.

"Hank? What's going on?"

"We're so sorry, Ben," the woman spoke. Her voice was breathy, barely above a whisper but easily heard in the silence that had descended like a thick fog around them. She brought a hand to her throat, moving from the edge of her son's bed. "You've been kind to us and Cy these last few months. We didn't want to do this."

"Come over here by me, Helen," Gentry ordered.

James watched Helen run a hand over her son's head before doing as her husband asked. He placed her in her forties, strawberry blond hair caught up in a messy ponytail at the nape of her neck. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes, red blotches along her cheeks. James couldn't get a read on her feelings, empty space like what surrounded her husband, but he imagined hopelessness and desperation would be foremost. He was thankful he could not read thoughts like his uncles; a backwash of sketchy feelings was often more than enough, more than he ever asked for.

"Ben, move away from Cy."

"What? Why?" James's brother was slower to respond to Hank's command. When he did take a couple of steps away from the bed his eyes never left James. "Somebody tell me what the hell is going on!"

"You have to understand." The woman continued talking to Ben, giving James a wide birth as she circled to stand behind her husband. "It was the only way."

It was obvious that Ben didn't understand. He tilted his head in a manner so much like their father that James felt the connection like a quick punch to the gut. His brother's gaze trailed Helen, eyes narrowing to slits of green. "Understand what? Why is my brother here?"

"We've decided on a new treatment plan." Once his wife was out of the way, Gentry gave James a hard shove towards Ben. At the same time he revealed the gun he'd kept shielded behind James's back. "My son isn't dying today."

Ben caught James as he stumbled forward. His eyes moved from the cuff still dangling around James's bruised wrist to his face. He brought a hand alongside James's neck. "Jimmy? Are you hurt?"

James licked his lips, the smart ass reply he wanted to offer fleeing as bile burned like acid in the back of his throat. For the last five hours he had maintained a good front, kept it together even though he thought Gentry was going to kill him. Seeing Ben, sensing his own shock and fear mirrored in his brother nearly had him coming undone.

"Hey?" Ben's grip was firm, cool against his skin. "Answer me."

"I'm fine." It was a running joke in their family. Saying you were fine could very easily mean you were missing a few limbs and bleeding out.

"Good to hear." Ben's mouth twitched before he swung his gaze to Gentry. He leveled the sheriff with a look reserved for supernatural villains and cocky first year medical residents. "Are you out of your mind?"

"That would be the consensus."James let out a heavy exhale, emboldened by the fact he was no longer alone. He pushed his momentary hysteria back to the dark pit where it belonged. He straightened so he was shoulder to shoulder with Ben. James had nearly caught up to his oldest brother in height, although JT's 6'3 stature remained the elusive gold ring he was striving for. "Gentry grabbed me from the farm this morning, locked Mary and Josie in The Tomb."

Ben moved towards Gentry but the sound of a shotgun being primed had him drawing up short. James turned to see that the man in the corner was now standing, well-armed and covering them as well.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Doc. I haven't used a gun since my tour in the war, but I believe it's like riding a bicycle."

"It's alright, Rodney," Gentry kept his weapon trained on James. "Dr. Winchester just needs a minute to cool off, wrap his head around things. His logic will kick in soon enough."

"What the hell have you done, Hank? How is kidnapping my brother going to help Cy? "Ben gestured to his lifeless patient in the bed. "His doctors have done everything possible. I told you my findings concluded with theirs. The tumor is inoperable. He would die on the table. I wasn't being stubborn when I told you I wouldn't operate. I was being kind."

"I don't think he plans on you operating, bro." James had hours to think about what Gentry's big plan might be. He hadn't known about the man's son until Ben was added to the equation, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to understand what Echnon's Blade, Duran Hughes and James Winchester all had in common-ties to the other side. "He took Echnon's Blade from The Tomb, along with Duran Hughes's journal."

Ben's brow wrinkled in confusion prompting James to expound his explanation. It seemed he was the only one of his brothers who actually took up their Uncle Sam's challenge of knowing Brotherhood history chapter and verse. "Magical knife, capability to switch souls into other more viable bodies hence holding the potential for immortality."

"I'm not looking for immortality!" Gentry snapped. "I just want what's fair, damn it. One lifetime for my boy. He deserves that." He jabbed the gun at James. "I told you to keep your smart mouth shut, kid."

Ben stepped in front of James, facing off with Hank. "You really think you can save Cy with some supernatural sleight of hand?"

"You gave me the idea yourself, Winchester." Gentry glanced to his wife, then back to Ben. "After your last run of tests before my boy slipped into a coma. I heard you talking to his doctor. You said what Cy really needed was a new body."

"I meant that figuratively. It most definitely was not a suggestion." Ben ran a hand over his mouth. "In theory, all my patients need a new body. It's every doctor's dream, especially when the patient is as young as Cy, with so much promise. Unfortunately, bodies can't be harvested, Hank. Have you thought about that? Just where do you plan on getting a new body for your son?"

"I've taken care of it," Gentry replied. "A lot of scum walking the earth these days, perfectly healthy pieces of shit that take every breath for granted. I see it every day. Checks and balances are all out of skew. Cy's donor is cooling his heels in lock up down at the station waiting for arraignment on charges of drug trafficking, gang activity."

"You're going to add murder to your bad guy resume?" James was sketchy on the specifics of Echnon's Blade, but he was pretty certain it did not spell good news for the potential host. The knife itself had healing properties, but the human body was not equipped to hold two spirits. It was why the longer a person was possessed, the less the chance of survival for the original occupant. "Soul swapping isn't like possession. Somebody has to go. The blade makes sure that happens."

"A two bit, punk ass drug dealer who never contributed one good thing to society during the nineteen years he's been granted on this planet, versus my son." Hank shook his head. "No contest."

"Hank, you're a hunter," Ben tried to reason with the man. "You know there is always a price when you cheat death. Your son is dying and now you've brought this kind of pain to your doorstep. Do you realize what my father is going to do to you?"

"I don't care what The Guardian does to me." Hank gestured between himself and Helen. Her eyes were filled with silent tears, and she was trembling. James understood why she looked so rough, as if she hadn't slept in weeks. Not only was she losing her son, she had agreed to sign her husband's death warrant as well, possibly even her own. "We understand the costs. It's worth it to save our boy."

"Who is this Guardian anyway?" Rodney with the shotgun interrupted. "He has no authority over Hank and my sister. What they do with their boy is none of his concern."

"Stay out of this Rodney," Gentry said.

"No. I won't stay out of it." Rodney pointed to Cy. "My nephew is dying and you believe these people can help him. All these years I thought you belonged to something like the Masons, with your special ring and secret meetings. Now you tell me it's some kind of hunting club, only with ghosts and magic. It's a little hard to swallow, especially once you throw in this Guardian bit. It all sounds like you're wrapped up in the mafia, or some freakish cult."

"We're not a cult," James defended. "But _The Godfather_ reference is close. Prepare yourself to be sleeping with the fishes very soon."

"Jimmy." Ben gave him a look suggesting he was not helping before he leveled his gaze on Gentry once more. "Hank, you've exposed an outsider to Brotherhood business, risking even more lives." He gestured to Rodney. "The Guardian won't have the luxury of letting him go if you do what you're planning. Did you tell him this stunt would cost him his life? Stop this now."

"No." Gentry shook his head. "I've come too far. Your brother is going to use Echnon's Blade."

James felt his heart kick up a notch, all the confidence he'd recovered upon being reunited with Ben disappeared. Gentry didn't plan on picking his brain, but instead intended for James to play a more active role in the ceremony.

"Why involve my brother?" Ben demanded. "He doesn't have a ring. He's a kid, Cy's age."

James's gaze was drawn once more to the boy in the bed. He thought of his friends from school, the guys on his soccer team. James would have placed Cy, with his bald head and slight frame, more near Mary and Josie's age than his own.

"A medium has to use the blade, someone capable of channeling a soul. I know what James is. Your father might have worked hard at keeping his freak of a son secret, but he failed miserably. Word gets around, especially where the future Triad is concerned."

"Shut your mouth…" Ben started.

"I can't channel." James spoke without thought, his body tensing of its own accord. Couldn't, wouldn't-it was all the same to James. He had his insecurities about his abilities, what it meant to The Guardian for him to have a psychic son; the position he might play in a future Triad; but at the moment James's self protection instinct was stronger. To channel a spirit meant he would not only have to physically come into contact with the ghost's essence, but essentially become its host, letting it take over his body before wrestling it into submission. "No fucking way!"

"Take it easy," Ben caught his arm again. "This is not going to go that far."

"Damn straight it's not." James shook his head, pointing a finger at Gentry. "Fuck you and your kid! I'm not doing it. You're beyond crazy if you think I am." He'd had incidences where ghosts had reached out for more than just a conversation with him. Communicating with the dead wasn't always like having a random conversation with a living person. Sometimes James could see the ghosts but couldn't hear the ghosts; sometimes he heard them but didn't see them. Frustration could cause the spirits to want to give him a full effects recap of their past life. Or some wanted to hijack his body to have a more physical experience with a loved one. Either way, physical contact was not only painful, but terrifying.

The pain he could deal with, the loss of control was another story. It was like swallowing death, or worse being enveloped by it. Channeling was too close to possession, too close to the things they hunted. Mac always tried to reframe it, to point out the myths of Merlin's gift to The Scholar, extraordinary psychic ability. Future Scholar or not, James refused to practice that part of his abilities, and no one had pushed him to expand. He might not be able to do anything about seeing ghosts or hearing them, but he sure as hell could avoid touching them, or worse, letting them touch him. He most definitely was not going to willingly invite a spirit to share his body like some supernatural parasite.

"This isn't a negotiation." Gentry made a point of releasing the safety on his gun. "I didn't risk everything to bring you here to discuss the possibility of you helping me."

"I think you're overlooking a very important point, Hank." Ben was still trying to be the voice of reason. "Cy isn't dead."

"And remember you're on a tight time schedule." James wanted to remind Gentry that The Triad would know he was missing now; they would have more than enough information to come straight to Hank's door. "Our dad will be here any time."

"Lucky for us your brother has the drugs that will speed the process along."

It was Ben's turn to look astounded. "You want me to kill your son?"

"I want you to end his suffering so his life can start again!"

"You are crazy." Ben shook his head. "I won't have a part in murder, no matter what your motive."

The gunshot was unexpected, but James didn't startle. He kept staring at Hank's weapon, which was still pointed at his chest. Instead of accepting the very real possibility that he was about to die, James's first thoughts were for the silencer. The damn thing hadn't worked. The blast was deafening in the small room.

"Helen!" Only when Gentry's voice registered his genuine surprise and the man swung his gaze to his wife did James's panic kick in.

"It had to be done. We have to get started," Helen was rambling. "The boy's got to do it."

The woman's words ceased to make sense, fading to back ground noise like waves at the beach as James looked at Ben. His brother's wide, unblinking gaze held his for only a moment before traveling to his stomach where a wash of deep red blossomed like spilled ink across his faded gray shirt.

"Ben!" James moved forward just as his brother's knees buckled. He caught him by the shoulders, both of them going to their knees on the floor. "God, Ben."

Ben inhaled sharply, his head bent, chin resting on his chest as he took a couple of quick breaths through his nose. "I'm okay, Jimmy. It's okay."

"No you're not." James fought the urge to let go of his brother, the primal emotions passing between them setting every nerve on edge. Pure shock, the body's first line of defense was vicious; multiply the pins and needles sensation of when a hand or foot falls asleep by ten and you would have an idea of the way the feeling sizzled through James. He longed for his own mojo bag, the psychic shield he was slowly trying to wean himself off of in lieu of his own mental barriers. It had taken him four years to gain control of his blocks. It was brutally humbling that all his training could be eradicated in one disastrous moment. "You're shot!"

"Your observation skills are awesome, little brother." Ben lifted his head, offering a quick smile that quickly morphed into a grimace.

"Shut up, Asshole." James was pissed. He tightened his hold on his brother as the first wave of pain filtered through their physical connection.

Ben groaned, curling over, his forehead pressing against James's shoulder. "I can't believe she shot me. It's what I get for doing a house call."

"Take it easy, Man. Just breathe." James brought one had to the back of Ben's neck, holding on to him as he turned to seek out Gentry. "Just don't stand there, call an ambulance!"

Hank still had his gun pointed at them, but he'd claimed the small .38 from his wife. Helen had a hand over her mouth, her dark watery eyes fixed on her son. "Did you hear me, you stupid bastard? Ben needs help."

Gentry looked at him, the cool veil of indifference back in place. "And he'll get it as soon as you help Cy." Hank moved his gaze to Rodney. "Take Helen into the kitchen and fix her a cup of tea, then come help me move the prisoners into the guest room we prepared."

"Fuck that!" The whole family was insane. "Your crazy wife shot my brother. I'm not doing anything for you until I know he's going to be alright."

"Jimmy. Focus." Ben's breathing was faster. He gripped a handful of James's shirt. "We need to stop the bleeding."

"You better listen to your brother." Gentry moved toward the bed, picking up a black bag James recognized as the one Grandpa Mac had given Ben when he graduated from college. He tossed it on the floor beside James. "Patch him up and get ready to move. He can rest while you do the research you'll need in Hughes's journal. I won't be gone long. The station's close by."

James was speechless. On the drive he prepared himself for whatever Gentry was planning to do to him. He accepted the fact he might die. James never imagined losing Ben as one possible scenario. "I'll help you. I promise, just take care of him now."

Gentry shook his head. "Don't push me, Kid. I didn't want Ben to get hurt, but your stubbornness forced our hand. This is your fault." Gentry kicked the bag closer to James. "I'll pick up Cy's new body, we'll perform the ceremony and then and only then I'll have the paramedics here. Move!"

"Jimmy." Ben pushed away from him, reclaiming his attention. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead; his eyes reflecting the misery he was in. "Just do what he says. It'll be okay."

James blinked away tears of frustration, the exact words he'd said to placate Mary and Josie a haunting reminder that his brother was trying to protect him from the reality at hand. He had a dark suspicion that nothing would be simply okay from this day forward. "You're a shitty liar, Ben."

"Cut me some slack." Ben swallowed hard, but managed another fleeting grin. "I'm shot."

James rolled his eyes, not trusting his voice. He eased Ben the rest of the way to the floor, ignoring Gentry who had pulled out his cell phone and started a muffled conversation. James dragged the medical bag closer to them, keeping one hand resting on Ben's chest as he dug for the bandages.

"I don't think it's too bad," Ben raised his head, his hands lifting the corner of his shirt. "Patients can survive a bullet wound for days before septicemia sets in. Bleedin…shock…is what we have to worry about."

James reached up and put his hand on Ben's forehead, forcing his brother to stay down. "Isn't there some kind of saying about a doctor who treats himself having a fool for a patient?"

Ben attempted a laugh, which came out sounding more a guttural groan. "I think…that's a lawyer representing himself, Bro."

"Uncle Sam would know." James bit his lip as he moved Ben's blood-soaked shirt out of the way. His first look at the bullet wound had him praying his uncles and his dad would hurry the hell up. He'd treated gashes and breaks, but none of them had ever been shot on a hunt.

"It's okay." Ben seemed to read his trepidation. James cursed his shaking hand, refusing to look at his brother as he tried to uncap the antiseptic wash. He'd always prided himself on the fact he could hide his emotions, not guilty of wearing his feelings on his sleeve like JT nor was he overly effusive like Ben. James was the cool, collected Winchester. "All bullet wounds look bad. Just use a pressure bandage. It'll hold me over. I'm not going anywhere, Jimmy. I promise."

"Shut up and let me work." James blinked, running a quick hand under his eyes. He felt the sticky smear of blood across his cheek; the sharp metallic twang seemed to coat his mouth, causing his stomach to twist. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "And, it's James, Asshole."

"_James._" Ben reached up and caught his hand, his fingers leaving another bloody smear that James found pulled his gaze. Only when Ben tightened his grip did he find it in himself to look his brother in the eye. "This isn't your fault. Gentry's pushing your buttons. Got it?"

"I got it." James gave a tight nod before returning his focus to the bandaging. On any good day he was a much better liar than JT and Ben, another family trait he'd seemed to have gotten more than his fair share of. But Ben wasn't some girl James was trying to score with, or one of the guys he was trying to scam into one of his schemes or bad ideas. Ben was his brother, his family, and a huge weak spot in James's defenses. It was too damn bad that Mary had missed the mark by a mile when she had said Gentry made a mistake in choosing James. Hank Gentry had apparently done his research all too well.

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

The Great Divide

Chapter 4

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N:Surprise! Random post. Hope you are all still with me. Several chapters to go, and I got a plot bunny for a Valentine's Day story. We'll see how that pans out. Thanks to all who have reviewed!

RCJ

"_Our deepest fear is that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."-Marianne Williamson_

Time seemed to slow, each minute creeping as James helped Ben down the long hallway. He wanted Hank to hurry and leave so he could get back with the unlucky con he'd chosen for Cy's reincarnation. James wasn't sure what he was going to do when presented with actually performing the ritual; but he refused to let Ben be forfeit. His racing thoughts were interrupted as Gentry stopped in front of a steel door with two slide bolts and a metal bar.

"Let me guess, you hired the same interior decorator you use at your precinct." James shifted to take more of Ben's weight, glad his brother did more running and swimming than weightlifting.

"I wanted to discourage any attempts at escape. I hoped to keep anyone from getting hurt." Gentry opened the door, gesturing James and Ben ahead of him. James's observation wasn't off its mark. The room was an odd hybrid, part guest bedroom, part Bobby's panic room. Metal bars covered the windows, the overhead light fixture was removed, one bare bulb burning. The walls were painted a pale yellow, a border of daisies sitting atop the crown molding. A white four-poster bed with tiny roses adorning the headboard was shoved in the corner. A down comforter and a colorful assortment of pillows covered the bed. The only other furniture was a small table and chair, a rocker with a quilt draped over the back.

James shook his head. "Yet, the creepy décor gives us only more reason to want to get as far away as possible."

"Ben should be comfortable enough." Gentry tossed the bag he'd brought from the farm on the table, along with Ben's doctor's satchel. "Hughes's journal is in the duffel. You might want to refresh yourself on the specifics. I'm holding onto the blade in case you get any ideas."

James moved to the bed, easing Ben to the mattress. His brother tried to stifle a groan, but didn't quite manage. James squeezed his shoulder. "Isn't this where one of us is supposed to tell him how he's not going to get away with this?"

"It's in the script of every action movie ever made." Ben met his gaze, determined not to be outdone. "Knock yourself out."

"Why bother?" James took a seat on the mattress beside Ben, keeping their conversation loud enough for Gentry. "The bad guys never listen then they look so surprised when their plans are foiled and they find themselves royally fucked in the end."

"It'll be the same for old Hank," Ben agreed. "I guarantee you he'll be shocked when The Guardian takes his ring."

"His ring?" James finally turned to face Gentry. "I was thinking more about the dumbfounded expression on his face when Dad puts a bullet in his head."

Hank didn't take the bait. He met James's challenging look with calm resolve that would have been impressive if James hadn't wanted with every fiber of his being to pound the self-assured expression off his ugly face. If the man was pretending to be confident, his acting was Emmy worthy. "I'll be back here within the hour. I'll expect you to be ready."

James didn't give a verbal response, letting the universal crude gesture of body language convey his sentiment for him.

"Nice," Ben muttered as the door slammed with a resounding thud. The clang of the metal bar rang with finality. "Real nice."

"What?" James feigned innocence. "You're always on me about open and honest communication. I'm just expressing my feelings."

"Sometimes restraint is called for." Ben brought a hand to his side, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled in a deep breath through his nose. "Like when dealing with teachers, parents, persons of authority or your run of the mill well-trained killer."

"Now, you tell me." James bit his lip, not liking the pale, waxy sheen his brother's skin had taken. He cleaned the wound as best he could with the supplies they had. His brother needed a real doctor, a stocked ER. Ben kept telling him there was time, he was doing a fine job. The bullet was still in there, and none of Ben's reassurances were going to allay James's fear.

"You've not been listening, Jimmy." Ben kept his eyes closed, his breathing measured.

"Yeah, I guess not." James didn't have the energy to correct the nickname. He slid a hand over his brother's hair before standing. What Ben said was true. He didn't hear much these days, especially if the conversation had anything to do with how he was messing up his life, how he was acting irresponsibly. His father threatened at the rate he was going James would never get a hunter's ring. James wasn't sure he wanted one. It seemed apathy for The Brotherhood set in sometime after his thirteenth birthday, along with selective deafness; but he was definitely paying attention now, recalling what Ben had said about shock.

He grabbed the pillows beside Ben, using them to prop up his brother's feet. James moved to get the quilt from the rocker. The fact someone was now sitting in the chair brought him to a complete stop.

"Sonofa…" James blamed being caught off guard on the fact his shields were taxed from worry, his nerves too far gone to give him a clue _something_ else was with them. With Caleb's help he'd almost mastered his ghost alarm. It was hard for a spirit to catch him by surprise these days. "Who the hell are you?"

"You can see me?" The kid was a little shorter than James, bulkier. His muscled frame rippled beneath a green and yellow tee as he scrambled to his feet. His face instantly brightened with a huge grin, a sure sign the guy was recently departed. It didn't take long for the dead to get frustrated by their condition. "You can, can't you?"

"I don't have time for this shit." James grabbed the blanket, ignoring the apparition. It was rare he could see and hear a spirit so easily, but he wasn't in the position to hypothesize. "Tonight is not your lucky night, Casper. Go haunt someone else."

"Casper?" The boy touched his shirt which had, of all things, a dragon on the front of it. James thought of the silver dragon pendant resting beneath his own shirt, the similar one he knew Ben was wearing. "You mean the friendly ghost?"

"Antiquated, but still a good reference, though most of you aren't very amiable." On the contrary. Ghosts were usually pissed off, belligerent. They were always wanting something from James.

"Who are you talking to?" Ben opened his eyes when James moved to his side.

"Nobody." James spread the blanket over his brother's legs, leaving his upper body uncovered for the moment. James would need to recheck the bandage. "Just thinking aloud." The last thing Ben needed was something else to worry about. Staying alive was his priority mission. One James would not allow him to fail.

"I'm not a ghost, Dude." The spirit was undaunted, shadowing James to Ben's bed. "At least I wasn't the last time I checked."

"It's always hard to accept at first. Give it a few decades, it'll set in." James focused his thoughts as he walked to the table to retrieve Ben's medical bag. He visualized the image of drawing a dark black curtain about him. He couldn't completely cut himself off from the world of the supernatural for long, but he could manage a reprieve. Most times spirits got bored with waiting, unable to wield the power to seep through his blocks. It was only the older ghosts and poltergeists that presented a problem. They were like leeches, latching on with the tenacity of a pit bull. He lifted Ben's shirt where blood had already soaked through the pressure bandage.

"Decades? Man, I don't think Ben has decades."

James growled deep in his throat as the spirit reappeared by Ben's bed. The fact the ghost was obviously young should have made it easy to block out, but it was still beside him, yammering on without restraint. It pissed him off to the extent he almost missed what the guy said. Almost. "Wait. How do you know…"

"James?" Ben's voice was laced with pain.

James looked from his brother back to the spirit. The guy was staring at him with clear, almost translucent blue eyes- Gentry's eyes. His strawberry blond hair was the color of Helen's, shaggy, falling over his forehead in one of the unkempt styles Max was prone to sport in his attempts to appear surfer-like. He looked nothing like the wasted boy in the bed, but James knew with certainty the apparition before him was one in the same. "Holy shit. You're Cy."

"Cy?" Ben tried to rise from the bed, his breathing becoming short pants. "Jimmy, what the hell is going on?"

"Yeah. It's me. Cyril Gentry." The kid nodded, his big easy grin back in place.

James placed a hand on his brother's chest, keeping him still. "Take it easy. Cy's here-at least part of him is." It explained why James hadn't sensed anything, why his shields had failed. It also explained why the communication was easier. Cy wasn't a ghost; technically, he was something else, the very thing that kept James from visiting hospitals. Modern medicine might have provided miracles, but machinery didn't always stop a body from 'giving up the ghost'.

"Cy's dead?" Ben rested against the pillow. "Shit."

"Not exactly. He's a tourist." It's what James called those 'visiting' the space usually reserved for the dead.

"Tourist?" Cy frowned. "That would make this the lamest vacation ever. I've been trying to talk to someone for what seems like a week now, although I'm not sure of time anymore. I'm so glad you're here. You're James Winchester. My dad said you were a medium."

"Forgive me if I'm not so excited to make your acquaintance." James jutted his chin towards Ben. He sat the medical bag on the mattress in front of him. "My brother's been shot."

"I know." Cy ran a hand through his messy locks. "Crazy, right? My mom's gone bat shit. I couldn't believe it when I heard the shots and popped in there."

"Popped in?" James found the anchored spirits harder to deal with. Mac theorized it was because they were still connected to their human forms, unable to completely enter the plane where James and the dead shared space. They didn't fall under James's umbrella of control, so he chose to have little contact, thus knew only the bare minimum of details.

"I don't like to stay in there with my body. It totally freaks me out." Cy folded his arms over his chest, rubbing his upper arms as if a sudden chill had raced through him. "It looks nothing like me, man. Dying sucks."

"Jimmy." Ben latched onto James's arm. "What's he saying?"

"Nothing important." James didn't want to think about death with the sound of Ben's labored breathing unnaturally loud in the room, the metallic smell of his blood overpowering. He moved through the wavering form of Cyril Gentry to take a seat on the bed beside Ben. "Let's check you out, Doogie."

"Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't help him." Ben ignored the nickname their father tagged him with during med school. James wasn't sure of the reference, but it was satisfying enough that his brother was usually annoyed by the comparison.

"Save your breath, Dude." James wasn't in the mood for Ben's one track mind; especially in light of the fact the pressure bandage he had used was now completely crimson. His brother wanted to save everyone, an honorable mission James was sure he'd either inherited from their father, or taken up because of the loss of his mother. Either way, the reverence for life had ultimately put his brother in jeopardy. Ben sure as hell didn't owe Cy an apology, nor did he have the energy to spare to attempt one.

"Tell him I'm the one who is sorry." Cy had moved closer to Ben, standing near the head of the bed. "Ben leveled with me from the beginning, treated me like a person, not just a case. He's a straight shooter, a good doctor."

"And he got a bullet for his trouble." James glared at the spirit. "Move away from my brother."

"I didn't want him to get hurt. I tried to warn him when he showed up this morning." Cy's form wavered, but he stayed where he was. "I was afraid something bad would happen after my dad started making those crazy plans. I tried to talk to him, but nobody can hear me. I tried to get back in my body thinking I might wake up, but it was a no go."

"Getting back in your body isn't an option. Tourists have a one way destination, no return trips allowed." James opened the medical bag, getting the clean gauze he would need.

"Jimmy…" Ben started.

"What? We don't have time for an exchange of pleasantries." James put the new supplies aside, taking care in removing the soiled bandage, Ben's hands fisted in the sheets. James sent another glare in Cy's direction as he tossed the bloodied gauze in a small waste can near his feet. "His father's crazy plan is currently underway."

"I can't change what my dad has done, but I want to help stop him from hurting anyone else," Cy watched James redress the wound. "I want to help Ben. Really."

"Can you unlock the door, and get rid of your crazy uncle? Can you get me a phone? " James knew that unless Cy was some kind of anomaly, none of those things would be possible. It took time for spirits to gain strength; the ability to be seen by humans was difficult, let alone mastering manipulating anything with matter. As far as he knew, tourists were completely impotent.

"I don't think so, man." Cy stretched his hands out in front of him, staring at them. He looked stricken, and if Ben hadn't been bleeding out in front of him James might have been empathetic to the other teen's plight. "I move through everything."

"I was being sarcastic." James shook his head at the other teen's naiveté "Trust me when I say, you're not going to be of much use to Ben."

Ben closed his eyes. "Dad will get here in time."

"The Guardian's coming here?" Cy asked.

"Eventually." James tied off the bandage, wishing he could embrace his brother's faith. The blood on his hands made it hard. The fact their father was in South Carolina, logistically a good twelve to fourteen hours away, depending on location, further dampened his childhood belief that The Guardian could move mountains if need be.

"Damn." Cy started to pace. "I've always wanted to meet him. I thought it would be when I got my ring, but that's not going to happen now is it?"

"Not likely." James cleaned his hands with an alcohol wipe. "Your entire family is probably going to be erased from Brotherhood history."

Cy drew up short in front of James. "You think he'll kill my dad?"

James looked from Cy to Ben, whose pallor now matched the color of the starched sheets. "What do you think?"

"Oh man." Cy brought his hands up to grip at his hair. "I think The Guardian's going to be pissed. We've got to stop my dad from doing this before he messes up everything."

"That's an understatement." James didn't know if Cy was always so slowwitted or if being caught in the throes of dying had something to do with it. "The Guardian's going to destroy your father, but there's still a chance for your mom and uncle."

"Jimmy…" Ben opened his eyes, the look of reproof easily reflecting in his glassy green gaze.

"What?" James groaned. "It's the truth." His brother wasn't privy to Cy's side of the conversation, but could glean enough to realize that James wasn't taking measures to be overly kind or gentle about breaking the news.

"Don't be an ass." Ben's tone left no room for reproach.

"Don't judge me." James grumbled as Ben continued to stare at him with a good mixture of pain and disappointment. Despite all his instincts, James reached deep down to find a modicum of what his brother expected from him. He turned to Cy. "Look, it's not like I think you got cancer on purpose."

"Wow." Cy brought his fists down, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's really good of you, Winchester. You really are a bigger dick than everyone says."

"I'm a dick? Why? Because I call things like I see them. I thought you appreciated the honest approach?" James stood, his temper flaring at the other teen's sudden attitude. "My brother is bleeding to death because he came here to help you. It might not be your fault _specifically_, but it is definitely not his fault, nor my fault that your whole family is fucked up."

"No one talks about my family and gets away with it." Cy flickered out of sight, only to reappear directly in front of James. His chest puffed out and by the look on his face he was prepared to do battle. The heat in his blue eyes was unmistakable.

"You have got to be kidding me." James was so familiar with the encounter, school hallways, school cafeteria, on the soccer field. He seemed to have a knack for bringing out the worst in people. Fighting had become a hobby. James hadn't tried non-corporeal contact with a tourist, but there was a first time for everything. He was always up for a challenge.

"Take back what you said." Cy raised his fists.

"Not happening.""James squared off with the other teen. "No one shoots my brother and gets away with it!"

"Jimmy…"

"What?" James snarled at Ben.

"You're yelling at a ghost..." Ben gestured in the air, grimacing with the movement.

"I'm not a ghost." Cy made a pitiful attempt to pound one meaty fist against his chest. He looked mortified when his hand passed straight through. James almost felt bad for him.

Ben let his hand drop to the bed. "It proves Max's theory that you could get in a pissing contests with your shadow, but it's pretty lame even for you."

It wasn't the irrefutable logic, but the way Ben's words ran together and slurred that instantly doused James's anger.

"Damn it." He ran his hands through his hair, taking a step back from Cy. He took a deep breath, remembering the breathing exercise Uncle Caleb had taught him. He looked from Ben to Cy. James knew he was being an idiot. "Ben's right. I'm sorry I lost my cool. This really isn't your fault."

"I get it. He's your brother. You're worried." Cy deflated, dropping his hands to his sides, his shoulders falling. "I'm worried, too."

James returned his gaze to Ben. "With good reason."

"I still think I could have taken you, Winchester, even if I am one big pile of ectoplasm."

"You wish." James forced a smile to soften the truth. In another time, he and Cy might have been friends, soldiers on the same battle field. "Ectoplasm would be a huge step up. You're more like an echo off a distant mountain, smoke and mirrors."

Cy rolled his eyes. "You really know how to make a guy feel better."

"Hey, I leave the bedside manner to Ben." James reclaimed his seat on the bed by his brother. "Speaking of, how you doing, Doc?"

"Better since you called off the supernatural rumble." A shadow of a grin crossed Ben's face. "I'd so hate to see one of my comatose cancer patients kick your ass, little brother."

"Good to see your sense of humor is as inappropriate as ever."

"He's a lot funnier than you." James looked up at Cy's comment. The other teen was watching him. "And JT is a lot nicer than you."

"You know JT?"

Cy shrugged a shoulder, a shadow of his smile returning. "I met him once at a Sox game. He was awesome. Definitely not a dick."

"So they tell me." James laughed at the irony. Even as a kidnapping victim being held in a prison cell guest bedroom in Bowling Green, Ohio, he was still being held in comparison to his brother.

"What?" Ben asked.

James didn't like the softness of his brother's inquiry, but hoped their shared joke wouldn't fail. He and Ben liked to commiserate on the unfairness of having a genetic link with a sports star-who just happened to be living out their father's boyhood dream. "Seems your buddy Cy is a card carrying member of The Jonathan Winchester Fan Club. Once again _you_ are schooled by one of your way cooler and much better looking younger brothers."

"Figures." Ben rallied some, proving he was holding his own by giving a dramatic roll of his eyes. "Nobody ever asks us surgeons for our autographs."

"It's a sad world." James played his part. "How many homeruns actually save a life?"

"Several, if you count my dad's heart giving out." Cy folded his arms over his chest, his gaze moving to the metal door. "He's a huge Red Sox fan-was so psyched at that game when we met JT. That was such a great day."

The intense feeling of sadness and regret emanating from the teen caught James off guard. He winced, bringing a hand to his head.

"Jimmy?"

"_James," _James growled, Ben's concerned voice grounding him. He cursed himself for leaving his blocks down. He blinked, realizing what the new onslaught meant. "Looks like Cy's not doing well."

"What do you mean?" Ben's hand brushed against James's, cool and clammy.

"I'm okay," Cy disagreed.

"Not _you_," James rubbed his temples. "Your body. Your life force, for lack of a better word." It sounded lame, psychic mumbo jumbo, just one of the reasons James chose not to talk about his abilities unless it was with one of his uncles, or Mac. He shot his brother a helpless glance. "I can sense his presence now. All his angsting is giving me one mother of a headache, which means he's becoming more a part of the spirit plane."

"Organ failure," Ben voice was weak and full of regret. "It's inevitable."

"But what will happen if I die before my dad gets back?" Cy stayed very still, a rabbit caught in the crosshairs.

"I'm not sure." James looked up t him. He didn't know why some spirits moved on immediately, and others chose to linger, or if they even had a choice in the matter. It was often unfinished business, but he didn't know if one could just _will _themselves to stay once their body gave out.

"What's he saying?" Ben shifted on the bed.

James studied his brother for a moment, the parallels not lost on him. "He wants to know what will happen if he can't hold on until his father gets here."

Ben struggled to keep his eyes open, his focus on James. "We just have to believe his dad will get here in time."

"If I can hold on, will the knife work? Will it transfer my soul into another body?"

James glanced to Ben. "He wants to know if Echnon's Blade will work."

"Tell him it might work." Ben licked his lips. "But it would come with a price."

"He can hear _you_, genius." James knew it was hard for others to accept what he understood-just because one didn't hear or see the dead and dying, didn't mean they weren't being seen and heard by them.

"I don't want to use the knife," Cy's voice held no doubts. He met James's gaze with unflinching resolve. "I'm not afraid. I haven't been for a long time."

"Then you've got a leg up." James considered the fact he was terrified of dying his best kept secret, and the fact he carried a torch for JT's long time girlfriend, Sydney Mathews. "Death is right up there with public speaking. Most people don't want the experience."

"I've made my peace." Cy gave a little shrug. "It's not like I have a lot of choice in the matter, besides I think there's something more out there for me."

James wasn't sure if it was the look on his face, or the way he moved his hand protectively over Ben's chest that gave away his doubts as to his confidence in what lay beyond the great divide.

"What about you?" Cy questioned. "You see ghosts, talk to dead people, what do they say?"

James tensed. "I don't usually get philosophical with spirits." Tessa was the one exception. A regular visitor to James, she was a spirit who refused to let go and move on for reasons she didn't choose to share. James had long since given up encouraging her to do so. Tessa seemed to be an anomaly. She wasn't embittered or enraged anti-matter; she didn't hurt anyone. She liked to talk to James about his gift, the light, giving her postulations about what lay beyond. "Nor do I have the time or inclination to wax poetic with you."

Cy rolled his eyes. "I bet you're a real comfort to the departed, Winchester"

James snorted. "You'd rather I make up a warm and fuzzy tale about the afterlife that may or may not be true." It was the one question he always got, the one he hated with a passion.

"Maybe."

"I know an angel. He seems decent enough." Castiel was the only hard proof James had there was something good on the other side of the great divide. "The end."

"That's something." Cy didn't seem as disappointed as James expected. "I guess this is where faith comes in."

"I guess." James wasn't sure he had faith in anything but his family, good old American ingenuity, and the almighty dollar.

"I believe in God." Ben's statement had him turning to his brother. Although James assumed he was speaking to Cy, Ben kept his gaze on James. "I've seen too many miracles not to. I'm not afraid to die."

"You're not going to die." James gripped his brother's arm. He hoped the pep speech was for Cy's benefit. "How about we stop talking about the hereafter and focus on a way out of this mess that doesn't involve heralding angels."

"Is there a way to stall?" Cy asked. "To maybe fake out my father until help arrives?"

"I have a strong hunch nothing short of driving Echnon's Blade into the unlucky inmate's chest is going to satisfy your father."

"Maybe you could tell him I'm here, that I don't want this."

"Like he's going to believe me. Your withered shell of a body a few doors down is not exactly going to give me much credibility." James gestured to Ben. "And it's not exactly like I don't have good motivation to lie through my teeth."

"Can't you perform a séance, let me speak through you?"

"Do I look like I carry a crystal ball in my pocket?" James reeled at the idea. He had read Duran's Hughes's accounts of channeling. The man mastered the technique, often conjuring ghosts against their will to help in his vast and varied exploits. "It's not my thing."

"Meaning- you don't know how to do it." Cy folded his arms over his chest in challenge. "Or you're afraid to do it."

"Meaning- inviting spirits to clank around inside my head is not my idea of fun." James ran a hand down his mouth. "Besides, you're not technically a spirit."

"If Ben is right that won't be a problem for much longer." James's reply was silenced by another crash of sensations thundering against his blocks, only these were stronger, more familiar and definitely more welcomed.

"JT." James stood, his gaze going to the door. He was positive now. JT's was close by, Max too. He couldn't detect locations from long distances like Caleb. Psychic essences spread faintly before James rather than the threadlike connection that Caleb could follow to connect with those closest to him. From what James could gather they were on the property.

"What's going on?" Ben shifted on the bed, unable to garner the strength he needed to make it to sitting.

"Stay still." James held up a hand, moving closer to the door. He placed his ear against the adjacent wall hoping to hear something. "I think the posse just showed."

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

The Great Divide

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Next week's post may be delayed depending on the status of my Wee-chester Valentine's Day story. As always, comments and reviews are very appreciated.

RCJ

_Our siblings push buttons that cast us in roles we felt sure we had let go of long ago - the baby, the peacekeeper, the caretaker, the avoider... It doesn't seem to matter how much time has elapsed or how far we've traveled. ~Jane Mersky Leder_

When his brother James was three years old he went through a stage where JT was the only who could care for him. JT had to help James with his clothes, comb his hair, read him a story at night and tuck him in. It was cute at first, endearing to the grown-ups, but as usual James pushed the envelope. His preference for JT became a game of wills.

He refused to eat unless JT served his food. He snubbed bath time unless JT helped him. It took one time of their mom having to retrieve JT from a little league game so that James would use the restroom to have their father take the matter in hand. JT went to stay with Uncle Caleb. James went two days without a bath and food before he decided Mom and Dad were also worthy of serving his daily needs.

In retrospect JT understood the story was the first demonstrations of his brother's ability to turn anything into a battle, but for JT it meant something different. It marked the first time he felt completely responsible for his little brother. James might have agreed for survival sake to free JT from his role as caregiver, but JT had never managed to shake the feelings it stirred deep within his six-year-old psyche. The irrefutable knowledge that James needed him, would always need him.

JT responded to that revelation as if it were a life's calling. He came back from Caleb's more vigilant in his obligation to be his brother's keeper. It was a job he felt he'd failed at in the last few years with college, the minors and the pros- a regret confirmed by the fact he wasn't there when James needed him most.

"This is not your fault."

Max's quiet voice brought JT from his thoughts. "What?"

"I know that's what you're thinking, J." Max shifted so his back was flat against the tree they were using for cover. "You've got your bitch face going on."

JT resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Max would only use it as proof of his culpability. "It's pitch black out here, dick head. I'm wearing camouflage. You can't see my face."

"All these years of best friend duty means I don't need a visual to know what's going on with you." Max pressed the night vision goggles in his hands. "But you might want to use these for checking out the perimeter."

JT took the goggles, studying the house a hundred yards in front of them. They had only arrived at Gentry's, ditching their rental a mile up the road. "I was thinking about when Jimmy was a little kid."

"What's with the past tense?" Max snorted. "Jimmy is _still_ a little kid."

"He's almost eighteen." JT's go to gut reaction was to defend his brother, the weight of James not being there to proclaim the fact himself a reminder of JT's obvious failure. He turned to find Max on the ground rifling through their duffle.

"And your point?" Max stood, offering JT a blade and a back-up 9 millimeter. "Jimmy could be 28 and we'd still be having this discussion."

JT took the weapons, sliding the blade inside his leather jacket. He resisted the urge to call pot and kettle. Max had no right to cast the first stone when it came to maturity. As far as JT was concerned Max and James were practically on par. "My point is he's graduating from high school on Saturday."

"And you really think a diploma is going to magically transform James into an adult?" Max opened the leather pouch at his side, withdrawing the scanner that would tell them how many heat signatures were in the house.

"Just because it didn't work for you, doesn't mean it won't work for Jimmy." JT strapped the extra gun into the holder at his back. He didn't hold any such delusions, but was unwilling to concede such an act of betrayal when Jimmy's life was in danger.

"I'm going to cut you some slack because I know you're worried." Max tossed him a couple of extra clips as he waited for the computer screen to come up.

"Columbia will be good for him, moving to New York will give him perspective," JT recited what he had heard Ben tell their father in Boston a few weeks before when they had gotten together after a home game.

"All New York is going to give James is one huge ass playground." Max aimed the scanner at the house. "Face it, man. Columbia is a distraction at best. Grandpa Mac can offer to fund all the new buildings he wants, but his generosity isn't going to bring about a miracle. He's throwing his money away."

"You could try being a little more optimistic." JT worried what Max was saying was the truth but at the moment he could care less if James took college seriously or not, as long as he was alive and well to con his way through it.

"You could try seeing things how they really are." Max turned the screen towards him. "Five heat signatures."

JT gestured to the house. "The only thing I care about seeing right now is James, in one piece. Are you sure James is one of those signatures?"

Max took Mary's crystal from his pocket. The amethyst glowed warmly, casting a soft purple iridescence around them. "Josie's necklace is in there. Magic doesn't lie."

"So Gentry's an idiot?" JT looked at the house once more. "Why come back to his home? He had to know The Geek Squad had all his information. The man's a decorated officer and a generational hunter. We didn't even need the crystal after you scryed for general location and came up with Ohio. He left a paper trail."

"Maybe he didn't care if he was found." Max came along side, breaching cover to stand shoulder to shoulder with JT. "As long as he got what he wanted."

JT looked at his friend. "There doesn't appear to be any guards. If James is in there, that leaves three others to consider. Other hunters?" They had contemplated theories, postulated every case scenario on their flight to Ohio. It was obvious what Gentry was up to after Carolyn filled them in on the condition of the man's son. Knowing was only half the battle. Even with Ryker scoring them a direct flight into Wright-Patterson Airforce base, they had lost precious time.

"I sure as hell wouldn't kidnap The Guardian's son alone, but then again, I'd have headed to Mexico or Canada." Max put the scanner away. "I understand Gentry's motivation to do something this crazy, but getting other hunters to go against The Guardian, against Dean Winchester, well that's a whole other story."

"It doesn't matter. Hunters or not, we need to get in there. Now."

"Sounds good to me." Max stashed their gear under a bush before starting forward.

JT caught his arm. "Remember, getting James out safe is our priority mission."

Max sighed. "I heard Mom relay _The Advisor's_ mandate as well as you, JT."

"But we both know hearing and listening are two entirely different things for you."

Max ran a hand through his hair, a telltale sign of his need to do something, but talk. "Dude, I'm not itching to piss my dad and Sam off anymore than they already are."

JT let him go. "Then we agree we're to get James out, fall back to safety and stay put until The Triad arrives."

"Triad? We'll be lucky if Sam and Dad make it here by morning." Max raised his hands in the air. "Need I remind you that no one has yet to even talk to Dean or Uncle Caleb?"

"That doesn't change what your dad said." JT didn't like the order anymore than Max did, but he understood it. "We wait for my Dad."

"Fine, but what about _our_ Triad, JT?" Max pointed his gun at the house. "That bastard Gentry took more than Dean Winchester's son."

"I know." JT understood all too well. "He took my little brother."

"_Our_ Scholar," Max added. "This isn't just an assault on Dean Winchester's reign, or his family. It's an attack on you, and I can't discount that. We can't look weak. Ever. It only invites challenge."

"We're not The Triad. James is not The Scholar, not yet." JT couldn't think of James in that capacity. Jimmy didn't even have a ring, and if things continued as they were, wouldn't for some time. JT understood Max's position. Their lineage might have ensured them as candidates for the next Triad, but it also cast a long shadow of doubt. They had to work harder to prove themselves worthy, but JT was still accepting the fact that someday he would be The Guardian, that Max would be The Knight. "Jimmy's still a kid, remember? This is an internal matter. The current Guardian will handle it his way. We'll be lucky he doesn't strip our rings for disobeying protocol."

Max continued to stare at him, his jaw clenching. "Fine."

"I'm just making sure we're on the same page." JT and Max hunted together on a regular basis, knew each other's weaknesses and made up for them without much conscious thought. Restraint was not Max's strength. "We have to stick together, show a united front."

"And if that bastard Gentry really is an idiot and has done something to hurt Jimmy?"

JT tightened his grip on his gun. "Then we go to Plan B."

Max grinned, his teeth flashing white and wolfish in the darkness. "We are most definitely on the same page, J."

They entered through the three car garage, undetected and with only a simple alarm system that Max made easy work of disarming. It was eerily quiet and completely dark. They felt their way along, stumbling over skateboards and discarded hockey equipment in their desire not to use light in hopes they may keep the element of surprise, though the prospects of a trap thrummed through JT's mind.

"JT?"

JT nearly bumped into Max when he stopped short. It was the hint of surprise in his friend's voice, not the sudden illumination of a glow stick that had JT coming around to Max's side. His friend held out the light. "Car look familiar to you?"

"Ben?"

"No way there are two cars like this one." Max ran his hand along the hood of Ben's car, making his way to the driver's side. He pressed his face against the window to search the inside. "His bags are inside."

"Explains why he didn't answer his cell." JT's heart thundered against his chest. He had tried to call his brother before boarding the plane and after landing. Ben always answered unless he was in surgery.

"But not what he's doing here." Max looked at JT.

"Gentry's son." JT remembered some bits of conversation his father and brother had on that trip to Boston that didn't concern James. "Ben talked about a patient; one Dad had asked him to take on."

"A Guardian medical referral?" Max shoved the light into his boot, casting them in darkness once more. "Gentry really does have some balls."

"He's desperate." JT understood the lengths a man would go to for family. The Winchesters' legacy was filled with one sacrifice after another. He would be a hypocrite not to acknowledge it, but it only served to increase his trepidation.

Max gestured to the door that would take them into the house. "We need to get Ben and James out of there."

JT was all for that plan. He took point, not caring if Max was irked by their change in positions. Both JT's brothers were now in the line of fire, the reality of what that could mean settling in his gut like lead. Picking the lock was easy; the code not necessary after Max's earlier dismantling of the security. They slipped soundlessly into the house.

The kitchen was dim, empty, the air rich with leftover dinner. Only the light above the stove was on, a teapot on one of the burners. A mug sat on the table, a plate of food barely touched. JT felt the cup and plate, their contents still warm. Max gripped his arm, pointing to a room off the side. JT signaled for him to check it. The bathroom was clear so they made their way towards the hall.

JT flattened against the wall, listening for sounds of life. Soft music flowed from behind the first closed doorway on the left, the kind one might use for yoga or meditation. Light glowed beneath the frame. Max tried the knob. Finding it unlocked they entered the room.

There was a man on his knees in the center of the room, his back to the door. He was hunched over, shoulders shaking and JT's first thought was that he was praying, maybe crying. Then he saw the mess on the rug. He closed the door, glancing to Max as the soft click echoed around them.

"About time. Did you bring the bleach…this isn't coming out," the man asked without turning, continuing his scrubbing.

"Maybe you should put some muscle into it. Bloodstains are a bitch."

Max's words had the man dropping his sponge, reaching for the rifle beside him. He wasn't quick enough.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." JT brought his boot down on the guy's hand, keeping him on his knees. He felt bone and cartilage crunch beneath his weight. The man cried out, struggling to pull his hand free. JT shoved the muzzle of his gun against the man's temple. "Stay quiet," he hissed.

"One guess who this is?" Max moved to the bed, leaning over its occupant. "Patient's still breathing."

"Who else is here with you?" JT shifted, adding more pressure to the man's hand. He ignored the overpowering scent of sickness and urine filling the room, the awful way they blended with the more prominent metallic pungency of blood and citrus cleaner.

"No one," the guy ground out. "Just me and the boy."

"We know there's another person," JT countered. If Ben was also being held and the sick kid was one of the heat signatures, that still left one body unaccounted for.

"Who's getting the bleach?" Max grabbed a handful of the guy's hair, jerking his head back.

"My sister…" The man struggled to pull away. Max tightened his grip. "In the basement…" the guy stammered. "She's harmless."

"Who are you?" JT demanded. The man held no resemblance to the picture Carolyn had emailed them. "You're not Gentry. You don't wear a ring."

"Larson. My name's Rodney Larson."

"Hank Gentry's wife your sister?" Max asked, letting him go with a rough shove.

"Yes, damn it," Larson growled.

JT took his foot off Larson's hand. He kicked the man's gun out of reach. "Where's Gentry?"

Larson cradled his hand to his chest, glaring up at JT. "Fuck you."

"Wrong answer." Max grabbed Larson by the collar, hefting him to standing. Once the man was on his feet, Max punched him hard in the kidney. Larson doubled over with a groan. "Try another question, J. Let's see if he catches on to how this game works."

JT let his gaze move from the taunting bloodstains on the floor to Larson. "Where are James and Ben Winchester?"

"Never heard of them." Larson's reply earned him another blow from Max.

"I guess Mr. Clean's a slow learner _and_ a terrible liar." Max grabbed Larson's shoulders bringing him upright to face JT. "Maybe he needs some more motivation. How about the next lie that comes out of his mouth costs him a knee cap?"

"That sounds fair," JT pointed the gun at Larson's leg. "Spare yourself a lot of pain and your sister another stain to clean up. Where are they?"

"Alright…alright." Larson's gaze went to the door. "They're in the bedroom at the end of the hallway. None of this was my idea. I was just trying to help my nephew."

"And Gentry?" Max asked. "I believe my friend asked you where he is."

"The hell if I know." Larson looked at JT, cradling his hand closer to his chest. "I swear he's not here."

"You better be telling us the truth." JT maintained his aim.

"I am. The bastard took off after he shot Cy's doctor."

"He did what?" JT's gaze went back to the bloodstains on the floor, all his irrational fear now gaining uninvited validity. He tightened his grip on his gun, finger twitching over the trigger. "Why? Why the hell would he shoot Ben?"

"Maybe he was dissatisfied with the treatment." Larson motioned to the bed, the sick boy. "My nephew is still dying."

Max was a blur in the corner of JT's eye as he moved forward, bringing the butt of his gun down across Larson's head. The man slumped forward falling over the blood stain he had tried to remove, out cold.

"Come on, J. Move your ass." Max collected Larson's gun, then grabbed JT's sleeve to tug him towards the door. "Priority mission. Remember?"

JT felt himself disengage from his feelings, autopilot kick in. It was a technique that came in handy in baseball, all distractions falling away, the roar of the crowd, the directives from his coach fading into the background as his focus zeroed in completely to one single goal. It usually came down to catch the ball, hit the ball, run-_win_. In hunting the directives were somewhat different. Keep your head down, kill the monster, run- _survive_. It allowed him to push aside the fact Ben was injured, place one foot in front of the other, covering Max's six as they made their way cautiously down the hallway.

"Fucking Gentry." Max holstered his gun, placing Larson's rifle by the door so he could slide the metal bar away and free the rest of the locks. "I want to be there when Dean kills his ass."

"Just hurry." JT kept his eyes on the hallway, glancing from the door that led to the basement to the kitchen where they had entered. He wasn't convinced Gentry had taken off after shooting Ben. The man had proven to have little sense of self preservation so far.

"He'll be okay, J. We'll fix this."

JT turned as the last lock was disengaged. Max held his gaze for a moment, as confident as he had been in the earlier assurances of JT's blamelessness in James being taken. JT wanted his best friend to be right on both accounts, but was robbed of any such comfort as Max opened the door.

"About damn time," James was waiting for them. JT took the fact he was standing on his own and obviously pissed as a very good sign, but the blood on James's clothes, the look of fear in his dark eyes told another story.

"My broomstick's in the shop, Ungrateful." Max nodded JT in, opting to stand guard at the door. "We had to travel the mortal way-by plane. You owe Ryker and his pilot buddy dinner."

"Are you alright?" JT squeezed James's shoulder. "How's Ben?"

"I'm good." James gestured to the bed in the corner and JT quickly made his way there. "Ben's a mess."

"Don't listen to him." Ben opened his eyes when JT laid a hand on his forehead. "He's being dramatic, as usual."

"Are you sure about that?" JT took in the bloodstained shirt, the way Ben was fighting to keep his eyes open. His brother looked terrible. He holstered his gun, taking a seat on the bed to check the wound. "You've definitely seen better days."

"We need to get out of here and get him to a hospital." James started gathering things, shoving them into Ben's medical bag. "He's lost a lot of blood. My patch-up job is second rate."

"Are you okay to move?" JT ignored James, keeping his eyes on Ben. He lifted his brother's shirt, wincing at the soaked bandage. "This looks bad."

"All the more reason to get him the hell out of here," James snapped. "I sent Cy outside to watch for his old man as soon as I sensed you and Max, but a heads up won't give us much time. All we need is a run in with Gentry to slow us up."

"Who's Cy?" Max asked from the doorway. "We didn't pass anyone on the way in here."

"Gentry's son." James made his way back to the bed, his anger and frustration palpable. "He's on our side."

"I thought Gentry's son was the sick kid in the other room? There's another one?" JT understood James was frightened for Ben. He felt the same, but knew someone had to keep a cool head. That someone would not be James. He replaced Ben's shirt, looking up at his younger brother.

"They're one in the same," James tapped a finger against his temple. "I got the freaky psychic gift in the family remember?"

"Cy's dying." Ben's soft confession garnered JT's complete attention. "Organ failure."

JT squeezed Ben's shoulder. "I'm sure you did everything you could."

"Can you two girls save the consolations for your bedside chat in the recovery room?" James pulled the blankets off Ben. "Help me get him up."

JT stared at his younger brother. James tended to forget who was in charge, and the funny thing was most times no one seemed inclined to remind him of the fact. "Where exactly is Gentry?"

"Gone to pick up the body into which he wants me to transfer Cy's spirit." James didn't wait for JT to move. He reached out and took hold of Ben's arm, pulling him up. "Yet another reason for us to get the hell out of here. I'm not really itching to add murder to my list of bad deeds."

Ben couldn't stifle the groan of pain the movement elicited. He made it to his feet with James's help, his hand moving to cover the wound at his side. "That sucked."

"Take it easy it with him, Jimmy." JT reached out to steady Ben.

"I'm alright." Ben shook off his help.

JT nodded. "We'll have to use your car. We left our rental a mile or so up the road." The El Camino was ill suited for passengers, but hiking out would not be an option for Ben.

"Bloodstains on my upholstery?" Ben offered a hoarse laugh, but JT didn't miss the way he leaned heavily on James, the way his eyes fluttered as if it were a struggle just to keep them from closing. "No more house calls. Ever."

"I'll remind you of that, Doc next time Dad tries to whore you out." James held JT's gaze for only a moment, but it was long enough to communicate the helplessness he was feeling. "Not like you or JT has the balls to tell The Guardian no."

"Easy for you to say, Jimmy." JT gave a shake of his head, removing his gun from his holster. James might have at one time or another broken every one of their father's rules, but it was not out of fearlessness of the man. "Not all of us can pull the coveted favorite son card."

"Says the guy with all the baseball trophies and his own rookie card," Ben's voice was low, but JT still caught the eye roll as he passed to take the lead.

"Same guy pulling your asses out of the fire, Big Brother." JT smirked at Max as he passed him to enter the hallway. "Some days it just doesn't pay to be the middle child."

"You should try having a baby sister." Max snorted.

"I think I'll pass." JT was certain any hopes his mom had of trying one more time for a girl were dashed by the reality of raising James.

"Like JT needs a sister when he has a pansy-ass friend like Max?" James's theatric whispering to Ben was easily heard by JT and James's intended recipient, Max, who let loose with a string of familiar curses.

JT appreciated the moment of normalcy their banter brought. It was short lived as he passed the room where the dying boy, Cy slept. The kid's uncle remained unconscious on the floor. JT found it hard to feel remorse as he led his family through the kitchen, out the door, into the garage. This time he reached for the light switch before he stepped out the door and down the stairs, stealth not the factor it was before. James's warning came the same instant JT noticed the garage door ajar, a chill racing along his spine.

"JT! Cy says Gentry's here."

JT turned just as Gentry appeared from behind a tall stack of storage boxes. The sheriff's gun was trained on James and Ben, who had just cleared the doorway. JT swung his weapon to cover Gentry.

"Drop your weapon, Winchester," Gentry ordered. "Tell your buddy to get out here."

"Take it easy, Hank." JT figured the man's plan to wait in the wings, and get the drop on all of them was foiled by James's warning. He didn't look happy he was forced to show himself early. "Don't make things worse than they already are."

"Put your weapon down and kick it over here to me." Gentry glanced to the kitchen door. "Sawyer, show yourself! I know you're in there. The future Guardian wouldn't have come here alone."

"Sounds like you're a smart guy," JT kept his gaze on the sheriff. He knew Max would take his lead. "I guess you also know Max is an excellent marksman, probably the Knight's best student. He'll take you out if he has to."

"Not before I get a shot off." Gentry took a threatening step forward. "He won't risk me putting another hole in Ben, or you and James getting caught in the cross fire. I know a thing or two about the Knight's honor code and you said it yourself he's Reaves's prize protégé."

"Good thing I've not been knighted." Max stepped into the light onto the first step, his gun aimed at Gentry's head. "I'm just a hunter, sworn to uphold and protect The Brotherhood. Wasting you would fall right in those parameters."

"There's a whole hell of a lot of difference in shooting a target and killing a man, Son." Gentry didn't lower his weapon. JT had hoped the man wouldn't call their bluff.

"I guess I'll find out."

"Not tonight." The new voice came from inside behind Max. It was female; most likely Gentry's wife who JT naively hoped would remain faceless and entombed in the basement; so much for trying to keep the woman out of the line of fire. "Put your gun down."

"Sonofabitch," Max swore softly.

JT couldn't help thinking their escape was turning into a bad action movie where the good guys and bad guys keep alternating getting the drop on one another.

"I will shoot him if I have to," the woman stated fiercely.

"Believe her," James spoke up, shifting to give Ben more support. "She's the one who shot Ben. She's off the deep end, as crazy as Gentry."

"Don't do it," Max said. "Take Gentry."

"Do as she says, Max. Put your gun down." JT lowered his own weapon, kneeling to place it on the concrete floor. It was then he caught sight of the bound and gag kid behind Gentry struggling to see around the crate, the teen's eyes wide, wild with confusion and fear. Realization lowered like a gigantic boom. Not only had JT failed in his mission to save his brothers, he had now placed his best friend in jeopardy and doomed an innocent to certain death. His father would be disappointed.

"Smart boy." Hank kicked the gun across the floor. "Sawyer, give your weapon to Helen, nice and slow."

"Do it, Max." JT raised his hands, taking a step back to stand in front of James and Ben. He heard Max grumble his favorite four-letter word, but knew his friend would comply. Fighting their way out would not be an option. The risk was too high.

"Keep them covered, Helen." Gentry kept his gun on JT as he bent down and grabbed his prisoner. He hefted the struggling kid to his feet, shoving him forward. "We're all going back into the house."

"Let Max, Ben and the civilian go," JT tried. "You have me for leverage. James will perform the ritual."

"I'm not leaving you and Jimmy here." Max growled.

"Ben needs a hospital." JT shot a look to his friend.

"No one's leaving," Gentry stopped any rebuttal. "Especially, the perp. He's Cy's ticket to a new life. Now let's all go back inside like good little boys where James will do what he needs to do so we can call an ambulance for Ben."

"I can't let you kill an innocent," JT pointed at Gentry's prisoner. "This is Brotherhood business. Spilling civilian blood doesn't just tarnish you; it taints everything we stand for."

"Trust me, kid. This guy's not innocent. Nobody is going to miss him. No one will know he was used in Brotherhood affairs."

"I'll know." JT stood firm. "You don't get to decide who's worthy. I won't let you put a black mark on something generations of men have died to protect."

"As if your daddy hasn't put a shit load of blemishes on The Brotherhood record in his time."

"Fuck you, Gentry," James snarled.

"Two wrongs don't make a right, Hank." JT reached out and caught James's shirt, keeping him from doing something stupid. "And I'm not my father."

"Spoken like a Guardian, but your nobility doesn't get my boy a new body." Gentry gave the gagged teen a rough shake. "This kid does. He was going a way for a long time anyway. Look at it as me sparing him a whole lot of pain and suffering. I'm showing mercy, something you should appreciate. Your brother finishing him with a magical knife is nothing compared to what's in store for him in the joint."

"I'll be Cy's host," JT volunteered, trying to keep a plan intact.

"The hell you will," Max growled.

"You've got to be shitting me." James jerked away from JT nearly losing his hold on Ben.

"Think about it, Gentry." JT continued, his idea taking root to save the civilian and buy some time. "Do you really think my father is going to let that guy walk around with Cy's spirit inside. He's not only a civilian, he'd be an abomination. His duty as Guardian would demand he destroy him, release Cy's spirit to set things straight. It won't be so easy for him to do that if one of his sons is standing in the way."

"Don't listen to him," James said. "My brother is an idiot. The only thing you can do to piss the Guardian off worse than _shooting _one of his sons is turning one of his children into a meat suit for your fucking kid."

Hank looked from James to JT, his brow furrowing. "I didn't think about Dean not allowing Cy to live out his life. I figured he would finish me, but let my family go."

JT frowned at Gentry, "Because my father has a reputation for being so lenient and easygoing?"

"JT," Ben's voice was weak, but his sentiment was as firm as James's. "Let it go."

"Hank, maybe the boy's right," Helen spoke up. "Even the most ruthless of men would falter at hurting their own child."

"JT would no longer be his son," James grit out. "Do you not understand that the ritual only leaves room for one soul, the other has to say bye-bye?" He glared at Gentry. "Fratricide was never part of the deal. I am not going to kill my own brother."

"That's why you should choose me." Max shoved his way past James, moving to stand by JT. "Jimmy has probably fantasized about killing me at least a dozen times, and I'm Dean's godson. It's not blood, but he's not going to be able to easily finish me either."

"No." JT shook his head, wishing Max would have just accepted his plan "I'm doing this, Max."

Max pointed at Hank's silver ring. "If being a hunter ever meant anything to you, to your family, Gentry, you cannot kill a Guardian-even a future one."

"I'm not the Guardian," JT stated the obvious. His father was very much still in charge, and would be for a long time. "I'm no different than any other hunter."

"We all know that's not true."

"He's right," Gentry said. "Killing a Guardian is taboo, like offing Merlin."

"What?" This was not turning out as JT had planned. "Now you choose to be dictated by Brotherhood code?"

Gentry shook his head. "I don't feel right about it."

"But killing a future Knight sits well with you?" JT was incredulous. Things were spiraling out of his control, and back into the hands of Gentry.

"It's not the same thing. They're muscle, a dime a dozen." Gentry shoved his prisoner back behind the wood pile. "Besides, I like the Matthews kid better. Sawyers are always a little too slick for my taste-like car salesmen."

"Just call me Willy Loman." Max smirked, letting the insult slide right off him. "Plus I'm better looking and I'm going to be a chef. With JT your kid will have to play pro ball. I bet Cy doesn't even like baseball?"

JT glared at his best friend, who looked a little too pleased considering he'd just won an argument that would effectively end his life. "Lane Matthews is definitely looking good at the moment."

"Let the boy pick," Helen said, gun held steady.

"Who? James?" JT wished for divine intercession.

She nodded, her haunted eyes finding James's. "My Cyril can help him choose."

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

The Great Divide

Chapter 6

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: I hope it isn't too hard to get back into this story as the momentum was eclipsed by the two weeks it took to post Hearts and Flowers. We should be back on track now as there are no holidays looming in the very close future for me to get distracted with, although a trip to the zoo may be in store for the wee-winchesters as spring is in the air. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks to my beta and friend who made this readable, all left over mistakes are mine.

RCJ

_A peacefulness follows any decision, even the wrong one. ~Rita Mae Brown_

"I can't believe you just made an impossible situation worse by trying to play hero." James paced the floor like a tiger in the small space allotted to him. Gentry and his unstable gun-wielding wife had forced them back into their original prison with Rodney outside guarding the door. Gentry and his wife were preparing for the ritual. Ben was back on the bed, JT sitting next to him. "I shouldn't be surprised. This is typical JT, martyrdom up until the end, making me look twice as bad in the process."

"You have to admit, man, it was pretty impressive how he saved that guy." Cy was hovering by his side, purposively staying out of his room. "He's going to be a good Guardian."

"Shut up, Cy. Your fan boy routine is embarrassing."

"What are you talking about?" JT snapped from his position by Ben, passing Max a bandage.

"I'm talking to Cy." James waved at the spirit no one else could see. "You know? Dying kid-soon to be either your new best friend or my big brother if a rescue party doesn't get here."

"I was referring to the hero crap." JT glanced at him. "I wasn't trying to be hero, Jimmy. I was doing my job, protecting an innocent, trying to buy us some time by distracting Gentry."

"The only thing you did was put us in a horrible position." James ran his hands through his hair. "And Max is just as much an idiot as you are."

"Hold onto that anger, Jimmy," Max finished rewrapping Ben's injury, shooting him a crooked smirk. "You'll need it when it comes down to you giving me the shaft, 'cause you are going to choose me."

"I'd like to give you the shaft." JT took the bloodied bandages, crumpling them before tossing them in the trash. "You were supposed to follow my lead, damn it, not change the plan. What the hell happened to being on the same page?"

"The same page, J? You were pulling shit from a completely different play book." Max snorted. He wiped his hands on his jeans, rocking back on his heels. "I'm not going along with any plan where you wind up a sacrificial lamb for some punk ass criminal."

James rolled his eyes at Max's typical rhetoric. He stepped closer to his brothers and Max. Ben had his eyes closed, but James knew from the lines of pain on his face that he was awake. "Killing either you or my brother does not qualify as a better alternative to wasting a drug dealer who was going to prison in the first place."

"You all need to calm down." Ben opened his eyes to green slits and looked disappointed in them.

James threw his hands in the air, turning to Cy for some sympathy. He should at least be able to count on the spirit realm for something. "See what I put up with?"

"Yeah, guys willing to do everything to protect you. That's a real problem, Winchester." Cy shoved off the wall. "Try being an only child with terminal cancer."

"Can we give the self pity routine a rest, Gentry?" James pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your emotions are giving me a headache."

"Excuse me for succumbing to my malady." Cy rolled his shoulders. "I don't think I have much time left. I feel weird, dude."

"Wonderful." James groaned. "Try doing something productive with your last minutes in the physical plane like popping outside to see what your father is doing." James assumed he was securing the prisoner, gathering the things they would need for the ritual. His lack of presence was an unknown, and James hated variables he couldn't control.

"I want to hear the plan." Cy pouted.

James pointed to the wall, and Cy huffed, then phased through, but not before offering James a crude gesture of body language.

"Nice."

"It is all about stalling," Max said. "We just need a little more time for the second rescue party to arrive."

"Is Dad on his way?" James only needed to look at his brother for his answer. "Let me guess, you two didn't talk to him."

"My Dad and Sam are coming," Max said. "They were trying to reach Dean and Uncle Caleb."

"Uncle Caleb will know." Ben bit his lip, his gaze landing on James once more for confirmation. "Right?"

"In theory. I tried to contact him on the way here, nearly fried a circuit, but with you being shot…that should have come across loud and clear." Caleb should have sensed something was terribly wrong. Pain was a strong ripple in a psychic's circuit, but knowing didn't help if said psychic were in South Carolina.

"He knew when I broke my arm in high school," Ben's eyes fluttered. "Dying has got to rank much higher on the telepathic scale."

"You're not dying," JT gripped Ben's wrist as if he could will their brother to remain tethered to them. He lifted his gaze to his best friend, the very familiar Winchester scowl of stubbornness in place. "Neither is Max."

"Jimmy is picking me. End of story," Max stated. He lifted his hand up to stop any protests from JT. "I'm supposed to be the next Knight, J. It's my job. Just like it was your job to save the punk ass drug dealer."

"I'm picking you, but it has nothing to do with your noble delusions of grandeur," James interrupted the two, pissed that once again they were leaving him out of the conversation that had everything to do with him.

"No, you're not." JT's voice rose in anger, his face reddening. It took a lot to push his calm, levelheaded brother over the edge, to make him lose control, but once past that point he was a force to be reckoned with. "I'm the hunter in charge. You will damn well listen to what I fucking say."

"Actually, I'm the oldest, _and_ hunter in charge." James was surprised the challenge didn't come from Max, but from Ben. The softness of his voice should have made it less commanding, but had an opposite effect. Ben seemed to garner clarity as he held JT's gaze. "Big brother or not, Kiddo, this is James's decision. Let him make it."

JT looked like he wanted to argue. James watched him open his mouth to disagree, but then something seemed to pass between his brothers, and JT's shoulders slumped in defeat. He rubbed a hand over his face before looking to James. "Ben's right. You're the medium. This is your show."

James grinned. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not picking Max because you're my big brother and he's a pain in my ass." James wasn't entirely sure that was true, but it soothed his conscious.

"I'm sure that will bring comfort when I watch you stab my best friend." JT didn't return the smile like James hoped, but he seemed less conquered and more like his larger than life self James was accustomed to.

"What wins me the prize?" Max had the good graces to try and hide his satisfaction, but James still felt the need to bring him down a notch.

"It is most definitely not your amazing latent crafting ability if that's what you're thinking. Echnon was an amazing alchemist, and we all know Josie got all the talent in your family." James had considered Mac's magical knowledge, but his friend chose not to bear the mark of his father's coven, and therefore was excluded from some of the protection his lineage could have heralded. "I chose you because you're tainted."

"Tainted?" Max arched a brow. "You chose me because I'm not pure as the driven snow? You do realize JT's not a virgin, right? "

JT sighed. "I don't think he's referring to your non-existent virtue, Max."

"Shawna Larson? Your senior year?" James looked from Max to JT. "That crazy goth chick you told him not to go out with."

Max paled. "How the hell was I supposed to know she was into some freaky girl-power cult?"

"I think the first time she asked if you liked to drink blood should have been a dead giveaway," JT replied.

"She was insanely hot." Max shrugged. "I thought she was joking."

"Until her and her friends practically drained you." James remembered the hunt clearly. It was one of the first ones he conned his way into, considering it had been a ghost of a former victim that gave them the information on where the cult was hiding out. "You almost died before the Triad got there."

"I remember. We were miles away from a hospital." JT nodded, glancing at Ben. "Ben saved your life. He rigged up a way to give you blood."

"Uncle Caleb's blood." Max arched a brow at James, seeming to finally grasp James line of thinking. "Your giant brain really does come through sometimes, Boy Genius. Way to pull out the future Scholar card."

"What's he talking about?" Ben asked with a grimace, proving he was still alert enough to follow the conversation.

"Echnon's Blade takes an exception to demon blood. It's how Uncle Caleb saved Dad from Hughes and his witch," JT explained. He glanced to James. "But that transfusion was years ago. Are you sure it will still make a difference?"

"It's a calculated risk." James had thought about what could go wrong. He wasn't merely trying to show how clever he was. It was their best shot. "Demons leave a mark, one that isn't easily erased by time. I believe the blade will recognize it."

"Don't look so smug, Max." JT rain a hand through his hair. "I've read Uncle Sam's journal. James is going to have to stab you with the blade."

"Good thing it has healing properties." Max flashed James a look. "Hopefully the brat has taken his medium studies more seriously than he has school."

James clenched his fists. "Says the guy who got in to the University of Miami with a conditional entrance."

"At least Grandpa Mac didn't have to build a new business wing to get me a spot."

"I got into Columbia on my own." James couldn't deny the taunt hitting way too close to home. He knew his test scores and soccer accolades only went so far with the admissions board, especially in light of his subpar grades and conduct record. The Ames name had paved a way for him.

"Guys!" JT snapped. "Now is not the time to be arguing amongst ourselves. We need to come up with a plan and fast."

"He's right." Cy chose that moment to reappear, hovering at James's side. "My father tossed the prisoner in his trunk. He's on his way now with Echnon's Blade and the journal."

"Great." James took a breath, getting a grip of his anger. He relayed Cy's message to the others. "Gentry's coming."

"It's okay. We can do this." Max surprised him by reaching out and giving him a light shove. "Just like that summer we all decided to become blood brothers."

James shook his head. "I was ten. You, in all your fifteen year-old superiority, didn't let me near the knife."

"The point is, I was wielding the blade and you trusted me then. I trust you now."

"You do know I'm going to have to give you more than a superficial scratch, _Clueless_." Max's middle name was simply an initial - C. Joshua had chosen it, unwilling to say what he had in mind, though Max insisted it stood for Cullen or better yet Caleb, a belief their uncle wholeheartedly agreed with. James lived to come up with new, creative and often vulgar speculations for the initial, depending on what situation they found themselves.

"You and J aren't the only ones who have read the journals." Max's mouth twitched. "I think I can take it."

James held Max's unwavering blue gaze. There were countless things that irritated the hell out of him about his brother's best friend, he was arrogant and egotistical. In James's book, the C in Max's name should have stood for _cocky_. "I just hope you don't cry, Sawyer."

"Stab him in the lower stomach." Ben shifted, trying to straighten himself. "Stay to the right. Pancreas and spleen are on the left."

"Right." Max nodded. "Healing properties or not, I'd rather you avoid organs I actually need to survive."

"Damn." JT rubbed a hand over his face. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Maybe we can still convince my dad." Cy knelt beside James. "Let me talk to him. I don't want anyone else to be hurt. Please let me try. I don't want my mom or dad to get hurt."

"I told you that won't work. Your Dad isn't going to buy it."

"Then let me talk to him. Talk _through_ you. I know he'll sense it's me. I'm his son."

"You don't know what you're asking," The definition of channeling seemed harmless- the receiving and relaying of energy from another plane of existence. The reality of it was terrifying. It meant giving up control, relinquishing a part of you to another, both things James bucked. Practiced mediums wielded control, learned to harness the energy and direct it with focus. James had no experience. He would have to rely on trust, another concept that did not come easily.

"I know you're scared, man, but how can it be any worse than what you are about to do?" Cy pleaded.

James shook his head about to vehemently deny that he was afraid of anything. The sound of the metal bar being slid away spared him the lie. He glanced to the door as did JT and Max, placing themselves between James and the door. For once, James wasn't annoyed at their overzealous protective streak.

"We need to get started." Gentry nodded to Helen as they stood in the doorway with Rodney aiming his gun at them. "Rodney will stay with Ben."

JT cut his gaze to Ben.

"It's okay," Ben said. "I'm not going anywhere."

It wasn't like they had any other choice. James followed his brother and Max out of the room, down the hallway to Cy's. He was relieved Hank and Helen had the forethought to salt the windows and doors. Sage was burning for purity. Echnon's Blade was a key, one that could open the portal between the living and the dead. They didn't need to risk letting anything out, or inviting something worse in.

"Time's almost up, Dude." Cy wasn't giving in He gestured to his body without actually looking at his emaciated form. "I'm almost done for. I can feel it."

"Cy's time is running out." Hank echoed his son's thoughts. He pointed to the table where Echnon's Blade lay. "You need to choose, and get on with it."

James hesitated, unable to force himself to move towards the knife. "My son isn't the only one dying," Gentry's voice was hard. "Ben's lost a lot of blood. You waste much more time and we'll be having two funerals."

James stepped forward, grasping the knife. He wished he could drive it through Gentry's heart. Helen had her weapon trained on JT and Max. He settled for pointing the weapon at the sheriff. "You're forgetting about your own service, Gentry. Then there are Helen and Rodney to consider. I hope you have family plots picked out. "

"Don't say that, Winchester." Cy was in front of him, huffing. For a moment, James thought the teen was up for another round of supernatural smack down, but then his face morphed. Anger disappeared, replaced by raw despair. The teen's eyes welled up, his lip trembled. He reached for James's wrist, the contact solid. It sent a burning cold racing along James's arm. Grief washed over him like a cold, storm-stirred sea. James brought his free hand to his chest, casting a quick look to Cy's body, which in a breath had become Cy's corpse. "Help me save them. All of them. "

"Jimmy?" JT's voice had him blinking, struggling for a deep breath.

"Cy's here." James looked from Gentry to his wife. It wasn't the first time he'd spoken for the dead, but it was the first time he'd been completely desperate for the living to believe what he was saying. "He doesn't want this. He's ready to move on. He wants to save you both, but you have to let him go."

"It's a trick." Gentry chanced a glance to his wife. "Don't listen to him."

"Why would I lie?"

"Do I really need to answer that?" Gentry nodded to JT and Max.

"Let me try." Cy's fingers tightened on his wrist. James felt the cold spread, his body growing numb. He'd learned to keep his blocks in place, preventing even strong spirits from compromising him. Not since his first encounter with a dead classmate when he was thirteen had he allowed a ghost to touch him. "Please. They're my family."

James thought of his mother and father, of his grandparents and two uncles. He thought of Ben dying in the other room and Max and JT counting on him for once to do the right thing.

James let go. It was like falling into the pond during the middle of winter, the black water leeching every little bit of warmth as he was quickly pushed under. His legs and arms became lead weights, his chest constricted as the sudden frigidness threatened to freeze the blood in his veins. He couldn't catch his breath; there was no air to breathe.

His natural instinct was to struggle, to fight his way back to the surface. Instead he focused on the roaring silence around him, a pounding he soon recognized as his own heartbeat, very much alive and strong. It became an anchor, allowing him to bob to the surface. It was like watching through a rain covered window as Cy took over James's body and tried to convince Gentry who he was.

"Dad, don't do this."

"Jimmy?" JT took a step forward, but Max caught his arm.

"I don't think so, J."

"What are you playing at, Winchester? You really want to let your brother die?"

"It's not James, Dad. It's me, Cy. _Cyril._ You named me after your old man's favorite hockey player, Cyril Denneny, the Bruins Hall of Famer. Grandpa brought my first hockey stick to the hospital the day I was born." Cy pointed above his bed where an old wooden stick hung. "I hung it there after he died. How would Winchester know that?"

"Oh God." Helen moved forward. "Cy? Sweetheart?"

"Stay back!" Hank growled at his wife, swinging his gun to cover JT and Max. "You better cut this shit out, kid or I swear to God I will put a bullet in one of these boys. I only need one for the ceremony. I'm a much better shot than Helen."

"Dad, I'm telling the truth. Please, you have to believe me." Cy slowly moved closer to his father and James felt a wave of fear as Gentry's finger tightened on the gun that was pointed at his brother.

"_Easy, Cy. Don't push him."_ He thought the words, hearing them echoed in his own head, hoping the spirit currently sharing his body could also hear and understand him.

Cy didn't respond to him, but kept up trying to convince his father. "When I was like seven, I was obsessed with Winnie the Pooh. You used to read it to me every night."

"Oh, Cy." Helen was crying now. She crouched on the floor, lowering her gun.

James watched Gentry, hoping the man was going to follow his wife's lead. The hunter's jaw clenched, tears brimming his eyes but refusing to fall. "Shut up! There's no way I'm going to let my boy die. I can't do it. I won't do it."

"You _can _do this, Dad," Cy kept up. "Remember, you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

James didn't know if Cy was quoting Winnie the Pooh or making syrupy shit up on his own, but for a moment Gentry seemed to buy into it. His hand wavered; his eyes searched James's face with intensity. Then just as quickly as the cracks emerged, Hank rallied. He fired the gun, the bullet hitting the wall above JT's head. He and Max ducked, covering themselves.

It was all the incentive James needed. He had given Cy his chance and it hadn't worked. Now they would do things his way. He easily resurfaced, shoving Cy under, and into the background of his mind. James could feel the other teen struggling, insisting to try again, but much to his surprise, James easily held him at bay.

"Alright, alright." He held up his hands, hoping to placate Gentry. "I'll do the transfer. Just take it easy."

Gentry motioned him forward, and James stepped toe to toe with Max. "I'm sorry. I tried."

"I appreciate the whole freaky séance thing, but I think we should really talk about you keeping appropriate boundaries with your ghost friends." Max tried for a shaky smile. "It is beyond creepy that you have another guy inside you."

"He's made his choice." Gentry gestured JT away from them. "Helen, for God's sake pull it together and watch this one."

It seemed to take a great effort, but Helen made it to her feet. She raised her gun to cover JT, but raked her eyes hungrily over James. "Is he really here? Is my boy still with you?"

James could feel Cy's presence. The channeling left his body feeling like he was standing outside in sub zero temperatures without a coat. James was surprised his teeth didn't chatter when he talked. "He is."

The woman looked over to the bed, realization that her son was dead sinking in. It seemed to strengthen her resolve. Her hand steadied, her face became stone. James knew there was no going back.

"Take his ring, and the pendant he wears." Hank's demands elicited a low growl from JT.

"You are going to pay for this, Gentry. I swear."

Hank ignored JT, waving for James to get on with it. "I've read the journal. The silver will block the transfer."

Max took his ring and necklace off, stepping over to offer them to JT. "Hold onto these for me."

JT gripped his wrist before he could turn away. "Whatever happens…"

"I know, man. I feel the same."

James met the future Knight's blue gaze when he returned. He tightened his grip on Echnon's Blade, closing his eyes for just a second. James indulged in a last childish fantasy that his father might somehow rush in to save the day- to keep him from doing the unthinkable. When he opened his eyes only Max was there. The older boy gave him a half grin.

"Just give the sonofabitch what he wants, Jimmy."

To be continued…


	7. Chapter 7

The Great Divide

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: We are getting close to the end! Thank you for hanging in there and allowing me to tell this story outside the normal realms of Brotherhood AU.

_Man does not weave this web of life. He is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.-Chief Seattle_

It wasn't Max's muffled cry of pain that shocked James, but the incredible surge of power that rushed through him as Echnon's blade pierced flesh, burying to the hilt in Max's gut. The older boy folded over, dropping to his knees. James followed him down, momentarily reeling from the backlash of the weapon.

Nothing he had read described what it felt like to wield Echnon's Blade. Duran had his psychic witch of a girlfriend do his dirty work. James was beginning to understand why. As far as he knew, no hunter had tried, or if they had, they had not lived to tell about it either.

"Max!"

JT's shout jolted James, giving him the clarity to focus on what was going on around him and not the incredible zing of electricity still rippling along his nerves, firing along his synapses. "Shit."

"Sonofabitch." Max ground out. His hands braced against his knees.

"You need to breathe, Max." James could feel the sensation of his friend's pain bleeding through their connection. He almost let go of the knife, afraid he was causing his friend more suffering. He let out his own sigh when Max took one short breath then another.

"Is it working?" Hank was hovering above him.

James vowed to make it his mission to destroy not only Hughes's journal but Echnon's Blade. "Yes." Lying as a natural talent wasn't something he took for granted. It was a skill that would pay off not only as a hunter but in the business world. Max lifted his head just enough so their eyes met. James winked.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Gentry demanded.

"You read Hughes's research, Gentry. The knife opens the portal, but also activates the switching of the souls. I'm just the bridge, the conduit. " It was that factor that worried James the most. Once the blade was used, he wasn't sure he could control what happened next. In his father's case, Caleb's blood had blocked Hughes's witch from the transfer. He hoped the same would hold true for Max.

"What happens to the other soul?"

"I release it." James moved his free hand to cover one of Max's clenched fists. He could feel the minute shivers as Max fought to stay calm, to control the pain. James glanced at his hand holding the knife. Max's blue shirt was spotted with blood, but nothing like it should have been. So far, the healing properties were proving to be true. "It has a choice to crossover or stay on this plane. Trust me when I say the first is the better decision."

"Hank, just let him get on with it." Helen's voice trembled from behind them. "Stop all the suffering."

James let go of Max, bringing both his hands to the hilt of Echnon's Blade. He closed his eyes, feeling the faint hum of electricity. There was a tug, a pressure in his skull, like when another psychic was in the area. James hadn't considered that the knife was a type of entity, but at the moment it seemed alive.

"_Something's happening." _

It was strange to hear another voice that wasn't his own in his head. Cy sounded panicked.

"_I can feel it."_

"_Take it easy. I've got it under control." _James tried to remain hopeful until Max jerked, his breath hitching.

"Jimmy…" Max's voice broke. "Something's wrong."

The opening was like a gate. James could see in his mind a dark gaping hole, threatening to suck everything in like a collapsed star. "No, no, no," he muttered, grappling to keep hold of Cy's essence in his mind. His shields crumbled before the magic of Echnon's Blade like wet paper.

"What?" Gentry demanded. "What's wrong?"

"James?" JT's voice joined the rogue hunter.

"Oh God." James felt his grip on Cy fail; the other teen was being pulled away. James had made the wrong choice. Either Max hadn't been marked by Caleb's transfusion, or Caleb hadn't been the one to save James's father all those years ago. It was possible that Dean Winchester had been spared because he was ordained to be the next Guardian. He had been marked by someone more powerful than a demon. His Passover was Merlin's blood. The truth hit him like a boulder. James should have chosen JT.

"Max!" He opened his eyes, set to pull the blade from his friend.

Gentry stopped him. "Do it, and I will end your brother, Guardian or not."

"Don't," Max's hands came to cover his.

James glanced at his brother. JT gave a slight shake of his head. It was all the encouragement he needed. He was sick of the self sacrifice. There was nothing noble about losing someone. He would not willingly hand over one of their own when they had a chance to go out fighting. He jerked the blade free from Max, felt Cy disconnect from his mind. James turned, swinging the weapon to cover Gentry.

He wasn't fast enough. Gentry brought his leg up, kicking the blade out of James's hands. It bounced across the carpet. "You just had to play the hero." Gentry aimed the gun at his head.

James jerked at the sound of the shot. Hank's gun still had the silencer, so he quickly sought out Helen and JT. His brother had restrained the woman, although the fight had left her. She was limp in JT's arms, weeping.

It was only when Hank fell to his knees that James saw the small bullet wound in the man's head, witnessed the surprised look that registered in his eyes before he fell face first on the carpet. James's gut twisted. It was nothing like an action movie. He felt no satisfaction. "Shit."

"James."

"Dad." James swung his gaze to the far side of the room. His father, Caleb, and Castiel were there. "How…"

The door to the room burst open, Rodney came in running. Castiel raised his hand and the other man fell limp.

"You alright?" His father moved across the room to James's side. Caleb stopped to help Max.

James opened his mouth, but his father's hand on his head stopped him from saying anything. Words failed to make their way around the hard lump in his throat. The Guardian's concerned faced blurred as James quickly tried to blink away the hot tears quickly filling his eyes.

"Dad, Ben's in bad shape," JT said, handing Helen to Caleb to restrain.

"Cas?" Dean asked and the angel disappeared as mysteriously as he had arrived. The Guardian cut his gaze to his Knight. "Damien?"

"Go, Deuce. I got it covered."

JT led the way to the other room as Max waved him on. He was standing on his own now, without aid from Caleb. James let his father help him to standing, then forced his legs to move so he could stay by his father's side. He needed his dad's presence, the security that came with knowing now that his father had arrived, everything would be fine-including Ben. They made it to the room in time to see the glow emitting from Castiel's hands over Ben's unconscious form.

James's father moved to the bed, crowding in beside Castiel.

"Ben?" He whispered then repeated himself at a higher volume. James shifted beside JT, the fear and uncertainty in their Dad's voice causing him to inch a step closer, so his shoulder brushed against his brother's.

They all let out a collective sigh when Ben stirred. It was as if he was waking up from a rough night with his hair sticking up, and looking rumpled, but he was alive. "Dad?"

"What the hell, Ace?" James watched his Dad's face change, a smile chasing away worry and dark countenance as he put a hand on Ben's head, taking a seat on the bed by his oldest son. "I send you out here for a medical opinion and this is what happens."

"No more house calls." Ben shifted to his elbows, patting his stomach which was now completely healed. "Not unless Castiel comes with me."

Dean glanced at the angel. "Thanks, Cas."

James wanted to echo the thank you or finally talk to the angel that was popping in and out of their lives. There were questions James needed answered, and Cy to consider. Maybe Cas could restore the teen. He lost his opportunity as Castiel gave a quick nod to their father and disappeared.

He didn't have long to mourn the lost opportunity as his father turned, his gaze roving over JT to fall squarely on James. "Does one of you want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

James had returned to Cy's bedroom after the short, but arduous debriefing with his father. He was the one to cover Gentry's body with a blanket from Cy's bed, doing the same for the teen's corpse before taking a seat on the mattress to wait, for what he wasn't certain.

After making sure all his boys were in one piece, James's father had quickly reverted to The Guardian, giving orders and trying to piece together a plan of action. James could hear the noises in the rest of the house, which had become a hub of activity with the arrival of Joshua and Sam. There was a dead sheriff to deal with, his distraught widow and traumatized brother in law. James didn't want to know how The Triad proposed to cover it all, to keep The Brotherhood safe and beyond reproach. Ben had sedated Helen. JT and Max had been sent to deal with the convict in Gentry's trunk. That left James to his own devices. The irony that he chose to seclude himself with the dead was not lost on James.

"Shouldn't you be with your family?"

James was expecting Cy's spirit, hoping for it. Maybe even Gentry's. Tessa was a complete surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

She took a seat on the bed beside James, resting her hand on Cy's corpse. "I came to help."

James was confused. "How did you even know I was here?"

"I didn't come for you, James. I came for Cy." She glanced to the sheet in the center of the room. "And for Hank."

"Shit." James rubbed his eyes. His day was going from bad to worse. "You're not some lingering spirit, are you?"

"No." She moved her hand to his arm. "I'm something much more."

"Why didn't you tell me?" James pulled away, standing. She'd been showing up for years, usually after he'd had a run in with some difficult spirit. He'd never put the two together, never cared to think much on it. It was nice to have someone to talk to, someone who seemed to understand exactly what he was going through. It didn't hurt that she was beautiful.

"You weren't ready to know. Not until now." Tessa returned her hand to Cy's corpse. "You did well."

"You think this was me passing some kind of test?" James was incredulous. He threw his hands up. "I should have had you for Honors English."

Tessa frowned. "You gave Cyril what he needed to move on. This is your graduation day, James."

"I didn't help Cy," James snapped. He didn't know if she had chosen her words to make a point, but they had struck a chord no matter. James might be turning the tassel on his mortar board tomorrow, but Cy would never walk across his high school's stage. "In case you've missed it, he's still dead. So is his father."

"It was their time. You couldn't change that. Cy is where he is supposed to be. He's with his father." Tessa made her way to his side. "You did your job. Cy understood that. He told me to tell you he was grateful-that he would never forget you."

"My job?" James shook his head. He was pretty sure he would never forget Cyril Gentry either. This whole mess would forever be etched in his memory. "What the hell is my job?"

"To give voice to the dead, to hear them out, to give them what they need so they can move on." She touched him again, her hand finding his and squeezing. For the first time, James realized she was warm, not frigid cold like the spirits he encountered. "Your job makes mine much easier. We'll make a good team."

"You're a reaper." James hated the way his voice broke, that he sounded too much like the scared kid he felt like in that moment. The implications were staggering and Tessa's sympathetic smile didn't aid his unease.

"I am."

"Since when are reapers hot chicks?" He scrambled to recover ground, pulling his hand from her soft grip. "What happened to the old wrinkled guy with the scythe? I would have been much more wary of him."

"You are your father's son." Tessa tilted her head, a smile curling her upper lip. "This form seemed to be one he favored. You should ask Dean about me sometime. We have quite the history."

James brought his hands to his hips. That wasn't going to be happening because he and his dad talked about countless things, but never his abilities and rarely Dean Winchester's checkered past. "Does this mean I work for Death?"

"Would that be so terrible?"

James didn't need to think about it. Freaky psychic was bad enough. "Yes."

"We don't have to talk about the specifics now," Tessa shrugged off his adamant reply. "Why don't you focus on the fact that you have a bright and promising future?"

"As an emissary of doom?" James shook his head, taking a step back. "No thanks, lady."

Tessa wasn't dissuaded. "As The Scholar of The Brotherhood."

"I don't even have a ring. After this, I may never get one." James was certain if his father realized Death was courting his services a position in The Brotherhood would be out of the question.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Tessa glanced to the door.

James followed her line of sight and when he looked back she was gone. He glared at the ceiling, raising a fist in frustration. "Apparently angels and reapers have manners in common."

"Jimmy?"

"Sam." His uncle had opened the door, was leaning against the entranceway.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Annoying spirit." James waved about the hand he still held in the air. "A medium's job is never done."

"Hanging out with corpses probably doesn't help with that." Sam closed the door, making a wide berth around Gentry's body to cross to James. "What are you doing in here? Your dad was looking for you."

James gestured to Cy's corpse. "I was hoping to talk to Cy, to tell him I was sorry." Saying it out loud sounded ridiculous. Nothing James could say was going to make things right. "But I guess he's moved on."

"That's for the best. Right?" Sam was staring at him, concern registering in his dark eyes. "You encourage it."

"Yeah." James nodded. He would still liked to have had the chance to say goodbye. "That's definitely for the best."

"Your Dad's going to get help for Helen. I think Rodney understands his sister needs him now more than ever. He seems to be willing to step up to the plate and get past what transpired here today."

"Cy would have wanted that." James swallowed hard, hoping the hot tears he felt in his eyes would stay where they were. He cleared his throat. "I guess we should take care of the bodies."

"The Geek Squad has a clean-up crew coming. Your Dad wants you and Ben to head back to the farm. Juliet will not be completely satisfied until she sees you for herself."

James rubbed his eyes. He hadn't even thought about how freaked his own mom must be. "I hope her relief will cut me some slack. I didn't get a chance to do any of the chores on her list."

Sam grinned. "There always seems to be more time for us to do what we need to do than there is."

"Folly of youth?" James shrugged. It was beginning to seep in that he'd made that mistake over the last four years.

"Folly of humanity." Sam reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "The truth is, time gets away from us all. It seems only like yesterday when you were born and now you're getting ready to graduate."

James laughed. He'd heard the story of his birth more than once, although Caleb's rendition was always the funniest. "I had everyone scrambling back then, too."

"Especially me." Sam nodded. "There was no way I wanted to face your mom in the delivery room without having found your dad. Pregnant women are scary without adding in labor."

"Uncle Caleb said you were afraid you were going to have to go in as her birthing coach."

"Let's just say I was racing against time to find your Dad and Caleb. I was scared to death, afraid I wouldn't find them in time." He cleared his throat. "A lot like today."

"I'm sorry, Uncle Sam." James held The Scholar's gaze. "I didn't mean to scare anyone."

"This wasn't your fault, Buddy."

"Right." James snorted. "For once trouble found me when I wasn't actually looking for it."

"You do seem to have more than your fair share of run-ins." Sam raised a brow. "But then again you do come by some of that naturally."

"I've made a mess of things." James felt a tear fall, his well-placed façade crumbling. "I'm so screwed up."

"That's not true." Sam brought his hand to the back of his neck, his tone growing serious. "You're just finding your way. Not everyone's path is always on the straight and narrow. Take it from someone who knows."

"I never asked for this, Uncle Sam." James breath hitched. He's chest tightening. "I don't' want to be psychic. I hate it."

"I used to feel way. I wanted my abilities gone. I wanted so badly to be normal."

James knew his uncle rebelled against his gift, had fought a long battle to refuse what he was. "Does it ever get easier?"

"On days when I do something good with them, when I save someone, then it's not so bad." Sam looked down at his hand, twisting the silver band on his finger. "Then there's the part about Merlin, and the legend that psychic ability was his gift to The Scholar."

"What if I'm not sure I want to be The Scholar?" James understood that each position of The Brotherhood came with personal sacrifice, but it seemed unfair to him that the one path he seemed destined to follow was the one with so little control.

"Then I'd say that is a definite sign you inherited my intelligence James Winchester."

James rolled his eyes. "Dad does say I take after you."

"Let's hope not." Sam reached in his pocket and pulled out another silver band. He held the ring out to James. "It took me ten years to put mine on. I think your dad might want an answer before then."

"You're giving me my ring?" James felt sick. It was not the scene he imagined-in the middle of Ohio, surrounded by chaos and death, so soon off the Tessa's revelation. It was a whirlwind, which maybe was more fitting than he wanted to admit. "Now?"

"A hunter gets his ring when he uses what gifts he has in a selfless way to serve The Brotherhood and protect his own. According to what JT, Max and Ben said, you did all those things, Jimmy."

James looked at the ring, and then up at his Uncle. "It's James. I would think you of all people would understand that."

"Are you going to take it or not, _James_?"

"The guys don't know the whole story." James licked his lips. "I didn't make the right choice with Echnon's Blade. I mean, I chose for the wrong reason. It wasn't a Scholarly decision-it was a selfish one."

"Your theory was sound." Sam's brow wrinkled. "I would have hypothesized the same thing about Caleb's blood and the blade. It worked for Dean; it should have worked for Max."

James couldn't lie, not to his uncle, not to himself, not in a moment like this. "I chose Max because I couldn't risk my brother. I knew I couldn't sacrifice JT."

"That would also be a sign of your genetics rearing their ugly head." Sam sighed. "The Winchester curse."

"It's not good though, right?"

"It's kind of like your abilities-inevitable. It's not really good or bad, you just have to learn how to control it, and try to do the right thing whenever you can while causing the least collateral damage."

"Max would have been the collateral damage." James had avoided Joshua for that very reason. Max might have been fine, but James would not forget the feel of his soul as it threatened to slip into that dark void.

"But he wasn't," Sam said.

"Not this time." James wasn't sure he could embrace the 'ends justifies the means' concept.

"I think Max understands the risks of working with you and JT. Caleb's a good teacher. Trust me when I say he has a lot experience in this area."

James had witnessed some of the arguments between his uncles, enough to sense that mule-headedness and personality conflicts were not the only issues between Knight and Scholar. "This whole Triad thing isn't going to be easy, is it?"

"Good things rarely are."

"What if I can't cut it?" James wasn't one to admit his weaknesses. If he wanted something to happen, it usually did. His future position in The Brotherhood was the one area where his well-controlled insecurities dared to rear their ugly head. "I'm not exactly like JT or Max?"

"I think you're more than you see, James."

James thought of Cy, the words he said to his father, trying desperately to get through to the man. He glanced at the teen's corpse, and decided a leap of faith was called for. James took the ring from his uncle. A wave of anxiety crashed over him as the silver sent a pulse of energy through his palm. He closed his fingers around it. "I'm going to hold onto it for a while."

Sam smiled, surprising James by reaching out and pulling him in for a hard hug. "I think I better than anyone can understand that."

James held onto his uncle, finding solace in the solid embrace. He closed his eyes, hoping his father was as accepting of his decision.

…to be continued


	8. Chapter 8

The Great Divide

Chapter 8

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thank you to all the kind reviews and the encouragement readers have offered during this story. I am taking a little breather from posting for a while but will be working on a present day story for our current Triad soon. Who knows? I may be inspired to continue my Mother's Day stories with a surprise Wee-chester. Thanks to Tidia for all her help with this. She made it a much better story.

RCJ

"_And when the future hinges on the very next words that are said, Don't let logic interfere, believe your heart instead." –Philip Robison_

RCJ

James looked up from his notepad, slipping out his ear buds when Porthos snorted. The portly dog got up from his bed by James's desk, stretching with a wide yawn. He whined, wagging his tail at his boy before click-clacking to the bedroom door to be let out. James didn't need to hear the rumbling of the Impala's engine to know his father had made it home from Ohio.

"Don't worry, boy. He'll come to us."

It was a fatherly ritual when Dean Winchester was home, one James had found comforting as a kid. As a teenager, the nightly rounds elicited a mixture of indignation and annoyance. James didn't see the need to be checked up on by the warden like some juvenile delinquent. Only now, after the ordeal with Gentry and the realization that in a few short months he would no longer be living at the farm, did the prospect of having no one to make sure he was indeed safe and sound bring a rush of melancholy. James would miss his Dad worrying about him.

"It must be the speech." He sighed, putting down the pen he was using. James glanced at the clock, the glowing face mocking him with the fact that morning was only mere hours away. It was a good thing he had slept nearly the entire trip from Ohio the day before. Ben, healed and fully recharged from Castiel's angel mojo had insisted on driving the entire way. Even if he had not been a hundred percent, James was sure his brother's control freak side would have insisted on staying behind the wheel. It worked for James. Sleeping had the added benefit of avoiding any big brother chick flick moments about the events that had transpired.

James straightened in his chair, his heart kicking up a notch when he heard the telltale creak of the fourth step from the bottom. Ben was the one to figure out the old stairs were a landmine ridden give away if a guy was trying to sneak out quietly. His oldest brother had mapped the way around the worst alarms, but James had always opted for the safer bet of the oak tree outside his window. His father's quiet footsteps outside his door and Porthos's excited snorting brought an irrational desire to use the tried and true escape method, but it was too late.

"You're still awake."

His father hadn't bothered knocking, opening the door and entering before James had a chance to conjure a 'come in', let alone make a timely exit out his window. It was Dean Winchester's house after all, a fact James had been reminded of many times over the last few years when he disagreed with the lack of privacy or argued the unfairness of some rule.

"You're home way past lights out." James made a concentrated effort to slump in his chair, faking a stretch he hoped exuded sufficient indifference. The last thing he wanted to show was the anxiety that had been building over the last twenty-four hours. "Uncle Sam with you?"

"He crashed at Caleb's place with JT and Max." His father crossed the room, Porthos prancing at his feet for attention. James couldn't look at the dog, wondering if there wasn't some cosmic parallel between them. "Since your grandparents are staying here through graduation, he was afraid he'd have to take the couch."

"He could have always kicked Ben out of JT's room." James glanced to the closed door that led to the adjoining bedroom. He knew if he concentrated, he could hear his brother's snores over the soft roar of JT's sound machine. Ben reclaimed his old space anytime he was visiting-trumped only by Uncle Caleb who called first rights when he was there. That didn't happen as often since Caleb had built his own place just a few miles up the road. "You know the good doctor could sleep through a bomb blast standing up in a corner."

"Yeah, or Sam could have taken your bed seeing as how you're not using it."

"Uncle Sam knows this is sacred space. I had to wait years to get my own place." James returned his gaze to his dad, who had taken up residence on the corner of his desk. He didn't miss the strain under the lighthearted attempt at conversation. They didn't have many heart to heart talks these days. James often secretly wished they shared some common ground that could have carried over the threshold of his burgeoning adulthood like JT's love of baseball and Ben's knack with cars. Comic books and James's fascination with The Brotherhood had both waned around puberty, leaving Dean Winchester and his youngest son little to bond over. Still, James played along, hoping it was leading up to a quick goodnight. The dark shadows under his father's eyes, the two day's worth of stubble on his face told him The Guardian needed some sleep.

"Ah, the plight of the youngest brother. I've heard tale of it many times." His dad picked up the crystal paperweight of Trump Towers that Cullen had given James not long before his death at the ripe old age of 90. There was an engraving on the bottom- _James Winchester, CEO_.

"Obviously not a burden an older brother could ever understand." James folded his arms over his chest to hide his disquiet. He studied his father, trying to quell the nervous twitches in his stomach. He had no trouble snowing anyone, except the person he wanted to impress the most.

"Are you kidding me?" His dad put the paperweight back in place. "I pretty much shared a room with Sammy until I was thirty. Most of the time Caleb was there, too."

"Right." James rolled his eyes. "Back in the days when cell phones were the size of small dog and CD's were still around."

"And here your mom was all worried because you were acting out of character?" His dad arched a brow. "Seems like the same smart ass James Murphy we all know and love is well and intact."

"Mom's worried? Because I finished all the chores on her list?" James allowed Porthos to jump up in his lap, the dog turning a few circles before curling in a neat, warm ball against his ribs. It was another routine James would miss. The dogs brought James comfort, but bringing Porthos to the city, taking him away from Aramis and Athos didn't seem right. Unconditional love should work both ways, there was no room for selfishness.

"That and the fact you willingly helped your cousin and Josie with party favors, something you would usually find far beneath your talents. Not to mention, she said you hugged your grandfather-_twice_."

"You're always on me to do my fair share, to be nice to the girls." James hadn't mucked the barn stalls and weeded Miss Emma's rose beds out of a sense of responsibility. It had given him a reason to avoid Mac's subtle invitations to talk about what Gentry had forced James to do, to duck the concerned looks that his mom and Esme kept giving him. "And since when is buttering up Mac a crime? Graduation gifts are pending, you know."

"I think tuition to Columbia was your graduation gift, Son."

"What's a hundred grand here or there between family?" James ran a hand over Porthos's ear, causing the dog to twitch with delight. He tried not to take his father's statement out of context, hearing the underlying accusation that both JT and Ben had gotten full rides to their respective colleges of choice. He hoped it didn't open the familiar dialogue on how most kids did not have a grandfather or a godfather with millions of dollars at their disposal. James couldn't help it if he'd hit the extended family lottery. "I can still hope for that new ride I've had my eye on."

"I wouldn't get my hopes up too high, Kiddo."

"Meaning you put a cap on my gift quota." It was a typical Dad move. Dean Winchester only allowed indulgences on birthdays and at Christmas.

"If I don't rein Damien in early he gets a little carried away. Dogs, horses, Lamborghinis."

"Like giving JT a beach house and Max a brownstone in Greenwich Village. Compared to those gifts a new car is the equivalent to a nice tie." James hadn't come out and asked for a car, but he'd made a point to leave hints for his uncle.

His father made a face, the one that said no amount of arguing was going to change his mind. "I didn't come up here to talk about graduations gifts, Jimmy."

"Then what did you want to talk about, Dad?" James was content to dance around the real reason his father was here even if it meant arguing over his right for outrageous graduation booty.

"How about we start with why you're still up at this hour," his dad turned the clock so he could see it. "It's half past three. You have a long day tomorrow."

"Which is precisely why I'm up." James tapped the notepad. "I'm working on my speech. I wouldn't want to embarrass myself in front of an auditorium of graduates and their families."

"You've had that speech done for months. Your Uncle Sam proofed it over spring break."

"He told you?"

"I asked." His Dad tapped the notepad. "I wanted to make sure you didn't embarrass yourself in front of an auditorium of graduates and their families."

James should have learned by now that there were no secrets between The Triad. "Well, that was the old speech. This is a new and improved one."

"For a new James?" The Guardian's hand rested on the yellow paper.

James swallowed hard, wondering not for the first time how his father could so quickly see past his bullshit. "Something like that."

"You know what happened with Max is part of the job? You did the only thing you could in the moment…you survived and kept your brothers and Max alive until help could get there."

"You mean, until you showed up and saved the day?" James didn't mean it to come out with such a snarl. The anger was a surprise too. His father had saved his life and this was the thanks he was showing him.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner."

"You're apologizing…to me?" The sincere, quiet tone robbed James of his irrational ire.

"I didn't protect you. That's my job."

"We've learned you can't protect me from everything." For months after his abilities appeared, James kept expecting his father to fix the problem, to make it all better. He would ask on a weekly basis, and not just of his father, but his uncles, too. They were The Triad. They could do anything, had accomplished the impossible to save the world several times over. Surely, they could save James.

His father's green gaze hardened; and for a moment James thought the anger might be directed at him. He was deserving after the low blow, but in typical Winchester form the wrath was directed inward. "Gentry was my mistake. Those who wear a ring are under my commission. I should have realized the shape he was in. No man with his background is going to let his son go without a fight."

"He was crazy." James had a hard time reconciling the Hank Gentry he had come to know with one in the ranks of The Brotherhood. "You tell us all the time that people are far harder to predict than the supernatural."

"I knew he was desperate."

"Not much of a difference from where I was sitting. He was the reason Ben was shot, Max was stabbed. Even his own kid couldn't reach him." James wasn't about to voice his fears Gentry wasn't completely at fault in any of those instances, but his dad seemed to be the psychic one in the family tonight, using James's logic against him.

"Precisely why nothing you could have done would have changed any of that. Fear will make a man do almost anything to keep what is his."

"You think Gentry was afraid?" James could conjure an SAT study manual full of appropriate words to describe Hank, but fearful was not one of them.

"I know he was." His father seemed certain. "You can't watch someone you love face death and not be."

James looked up at his dad. "Would you have done what Gentry tried?"

"I think we both know I've done worse."

James respected the truthful answer, but it didn't help to dissolve the hard lump that had lodged in the back of his throat. It was hard to admit that the parent you saw as a superhero for most of your life was in actuality only a super human being, that there wasn't some cosmic great divide between him and you. It was like that imaginary gap most people believed existed between the world of the living and the realm of the dead. The gap was in actuality diminutive, as thin as a veil. "I guess we do."

"So can I read it?"

James blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. His father tapped the notepad, the heavy conversation dropped like the proverbial hot potato. "I don't have a fancy college degree, but I got better grades in high school English than anyone else in this room."

James rolled his eyes at the jab at his less than stellar performance in a subject he actually enjoyed. "You sure you don't want to wait and get the full effect tomorrow along with everyone else?"

"I'll act surprised."

James pushed the notepad forward. It would be easier to admit the truth with a stage and podium in between them, but there was something about his father being first reader this time around that seemed paramount. James leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. "Suit yourself, but be warned it's a rough draft."

The first speech had taken James weeks, hours of meticulous scrutiny over which infamous stories to share, what outlandish tales to recant from his four years in high school. This latest version was compiled in only a night, flowing from a place that didn't require such analysis. For the first time James understood what his English teacher had once said about writing with truth. The only thing required is that the author slit his wrists and bleed upon the page. It hadn't been literal, but James had suffered to pen the words he would confess to his classmates. Saying them out loud would be much harder.

He would start by explaining his speech would be very different from that of the Valedictorian's, probably to the encouraging hoots and whistles of his soccer team. They would be expecting the likes of the first speech, the written equivalent of letting the bird fly. This new speech however, would not be filled with anecdotes, testimony to the things James had done and gotten away with. It was a eulogy for the things James didn't do.

James would begin by addressing one of their fellow classmates, one who never actually had a chance to go to their high school, a girl who didn't even leave her mark in the form of a rose in an empty seat. Carrie Beth Fillers, having been murdered by her stepfather in the sixth grade, was not officially a member of their class, but she profoundly affected the years James Winchester spent in their hallowed halls. It was not only his first experience of death, but his first encounter with a spirit. It wasn't like he could talk about the specific circumstances of how they occurred; instead James would speak to Carrie Beth's untimely demise, her stolen chance, as a contrast to all the chances he had wasted.

James would talk about the lack of effort he put into his classes, the times he didn't listen to a teacher as they tried to impart their knowledge. He would admit to disregarding the advice of men and women far wiser than he, blowing off opportunities that might have led to places he would now never know. James would apologize for not taking soccer as seriously as he should, failing his team by ignoring practices when he could and not tapping into all that potential the coach was constantly insisting James possessed. He would confess to slacking in his role as president of the class, and in all the other club offices he held in title alone. Popularity had given James privilege he had not earned, nor appreciated until it was too late.

The most important folly James would concede was twofold. One, James had not listened to his mother when she warned him that a heart, much like a bone, could be broken and even though it might mend, it would never be exactly the same. The traces of that injury would oftentimes outlast the life of the person. James had played fast and loose with feelings. He had been reckless not only with his education, but with relationships. He might have had lots of girlfriends, and a band of buddies, but he had not been a very good friend, and in just reward was not sure he could count one classmate in his corner if the chips were down.

Two, his father had always instilled in his sons a sense of responsibility, a belief in the idea that everyone had a duty to help their fellow man, to do good whenever possible. James had not taken on responsibility for anything, or anyone, least of all for himself or his actions. He had fun whenever possible, everyone else be damned. He had taken life for granted, and that thought would bring him to his final point, one in which he would once again speak about a student who would not be graduating. Cyril Gentry's tragedy could not be talked about in full disclosure. He would be a faceless stranger to most in the auditorium, but James would speak to the teen's unyielding spirit, generous nature and the fact Cy knew how to put others before himself up until the very end.

Cyril Gentry's possibilities were cut short before they could flourish into something great, but James would not allow the same to be said of him. He would no longer let his fear of death and disappointments keep him from living the fullest life. James would close by asking his fellow classmates, teachers and most importantly his family for their forgiveness. He would encourage them to learn from his mistakes, using Cyril's last words to Hank to illustrate his hopes for their futures.

"I like this one much better than the original." His father's declaration brought James from his thoughts of tomorrow. He glanced up, ready with a kneejerk action to dismiss the heartfelt speech with a snide joke. His dad's watery gaze stopped him, kept him silent. "It sounds much more like kid I used to know."

"I doubt anyone else will feel that way, Dad. My friends will think I've lost my mind."

"The people who matter will see it for what it is. Proof that you really are growing up, becoming a good man." His father squeezed his shoulder.

James looked down to his hand. "Is that why you told Uncle Sam to give me my ring?"

"Actually I wasn't sure I made the right choice about that until this very moment."

"I'm not ready to wear it." James spread his fingers wide. He did not know when he would feel like he could.

His father nodded. "The Scholar mentioned that."

"And The Guardian's okay with that?"

"Your Dad's okay with it." His father tapped his shoulder twice.

"That's all I need to know." His uncle had told him he had not worn his ring until he became part of the Triad. He wasn't going to wait that long, not wanting JT to have to order him.

"You almost finished with this?" His father lifted the notebook.

"I know, I know its way past lights out." He didn't know if he could sleep tonight.

"Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to join me downstairs for some leftovers."

The mention of food gave James an idea. "Esme made a special trip to Hell's Kitchen for her favorite grandson."

"Pie?" His Dad's eyes lit up and James embraced one thing he and his dad would always have in common. "Tell me she went to Little Pie Company."

"She brought our favorite-peach." Caleb had started The Guardian's love affair with the Little Pie Company when he introduced his best friend to the delights of the quaint bakery nestled in the belly of mid-town New York. James's father had in turn taken him there when he discovered James's shared love of anything flaky, buttery and stuffed with bubbling fruit. The best thing about it was James knew for a fact his father had never taken either of his brothers.

"What are we waiting for?" His father bobbed his brows. "If I know your mom, she's probably hidden a couple in her secret hiding place."

"In the pantry, behind the healthy cereal no one ever touches." James scooted Porthos off his lap and stood.

"Yachtzee." His Dad put the speech back on the desk. "That quote you used at the end…the one about being braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. Was that Sun Tzu?"

"Close." James laughed. "It's from Winnie the Pooh."

"I don't think I'd mention that, Kiddo."

"And embarrass myself in front of a whole auditorium of my classmates, friends and families-no way." James had already planned on crediting A.A. Milne. Changed man or not, James Murphy Winchester still had a reputation to protect.

The End!


End file.
